Rejected Kindness
by RishiGenki
Summary: In August, 1978, Ludwig, the personification of Germany, meets a little boy standing in the rain, outside London, with enormous eyebrows. Historical fic, drabble. No pairings. Complete.
1. Rejected Kindness

_Rejected Kindness_

A Hetalia Fanfiction

By RishiAndSquee

_August, 1978_

London is always dreary and gloomy.

Germany winces slightly at the pound of the rain on the windows. The small, constant pitter-pattering of the raindrops on his hotel window was going to get annoying fairly quickly, he was sure of that.

He looks out the window and at the hurrying, bustling people of London scurrying over the drenched pavement on their daily business. His eyes, however, stop when they rest on a tiny blond head, and his eyes widen as he looks at the child. The boy is sitting in front of the hotel on a bench directly across from the building, unmoving even as the rain pours over him. He cannot see the child's face, but the blond is looking up at the hotel with such intensity that Germany cannot help wondering if he's waiting for someone. After a few moments, the German pulls away and turns to the door. He has a meeting to get to.

Surely the child sitting there will be gone by the time he returns. The utter loneliness of the boy is starting to make him ill.

( - )

The boy is still there when he returns.

Germany pauses halfway down the pavement from the hotel, mouth slightly agape. There is no one else on the street. He studies the boy - blond with blue eyes, wearing a sailor suit and clutching a matching hat to his chest - and can't help but feel slightly empathetic. He looks up at the rain through his clear umbrella. The dark clouds that had been surrounding London since he had got there this morning stretched through the sky in all directions, and from the looks of it, it wouldn't stop raining anytime soon.

Germany looks back down to the child and cautiously takes a step forward.

He takes step after step, keeping his pace steady and calm. Children are normally frightened by him - he had learned that the hard way while visiting Feliciano's house once - but as he got closer, step by step, the boy turned his head slightly to look at him. The look in his blue eyes was not fear, or even timidness.

Germany felt a shiver down his spine at the cold, hard glare that was searing in the child's eyes. Still, he approached, and soon he was standing over the boy. He reached down and covered the child's head with the umbrella, ignoring the rain that was now hitting his own back.

"How long have you been out here?" he asks firmly, head bent down so he could get a good look at the boy's soaking face. The child shakes his head and breaks their gaze, then speaks abruptly in reply.

"Since yesterday."

"Yesterday?" Germany replies in mild astonishment, his brow rising. "Why have you been sitting out here since yesterday? Isn't your mother worried about where you are?"

"Don't have a mother."

His eyes soften at the abrupt reply. "No mother? What about a father?"

"Don't have one of those, either."

The reply was once again abrupt, as if the child did not want to talk to this strange man. Still, the Germanic nation pressed,

"What about sisters or brothers?"

There is no answer for this question. The child bites down on his lip and scuffles his wet sneakers into the sidewalk. He looks back up, "No, I don't have anyone like that."

Germany is not fooled for an instant. He brings his strong hand down and wipes child's bangs out of his eyes. The sea-blue eyes of the child are moist, and near tears - he would know, after seeing how Feliciano always looked when he was refused food, or a nap, or cuddling - but these tears are being held back by sheer will, and filled with loneliness. Germany knows that if he tries to press the boy for answers, he might run away, and that is the last thing the German wants.

He tries a different tactic, "What's your name?"

"Who wants to know?"

The older blond can't help chuckling slightly, "I do."

The boy looks back up, a single tear slipping down each eye as he blinked at the large German. "...I'm Peter."

"...Peter, huh. That's a fine name." Germany replies, a soft smile on his face. He kneels down so he is eye level with the child, "My name is Ludwig."

Peter's face twitches up slightly into a small smile. "What kind of a name is that? It sounds weird."

"It's German."

"...you're from Germany?"

Germany coughs slightly, adjusting his collar, "Yes, I'm from Germany. I'm here for a meeting for the next few days."

Peter casts his head back down, fingers fidgeting together. "Oh," he says softly, and falls back into silence. The German looks around for a moment before looking back at the boy,

"Would you like to come get dried off?"

Peter shakes his head, the lingering drops of water falling from his face. "No."

"Do you have anywhere to go?" Germany presses, brows furrowing, "You said you don't have a mother or a father, and you'll catch a cold if you don't dry off. How far away do you live?"

The child swallows hesitantly, then points, "I live that way."

Germany follows the child's finger to the horizon of the sea. His eyes narrow slightly as he searches for a house, even a car or a bundle of boxes - he knows that poverty is rampant everywhere, and can't rule out that the boy is homeless - but finds nothing but the sea. He turns back to Peter and adjusts the umbrella again, making sure he is covered from the rain.

"Do you live on a boat?" he asks.

"No. I live out there. I have to take a boat to get there, though."

This surprises the older man. They both remain silent before Germany coughs again slightly, "Why in the world are you here, then?"

"Aren't you getting wet, Mister Ludwig?"

Germany narrows his eyes slightly, but his voice remained soft and calm, "Why are you avoiding my questions?" he asks curiously, wiping the child's bangs away again.

"I don't like being at home. I like London. My prince leaves me all by myself most of the time, and..." Peter pauses, then turns his head back down before he continues, his voice breaking, "And this is where I grew up a really long time ago."

The Germanic nation continues to brush Peter's tangled hair with his rough fingers, and can't help noticing how dirty the hair is - dirty and rough, smelling slightly of saltwater. He pushes the umbrella into Peter's hands and gently takes his chin, turning the child's face up to his own. "Do you have anyone I can call to pick you up? Anyone in London?"

This brings more silence. Germany refuses to break his gaze on the boy, and finally, Peter cracks. He speaks softly, and Germany leans in to listen to the child's words.

"...do you know Arthur Kirkland?"

Germany's eyes widen, and he lets go of the boy's chin, straightening up. Taken aback, he looks around at the empty street. "I...I do, actually. You know him?"

Peter sniffs, then bites down on his lip firmly, tightening his grip on the blue hat and the umbrella handle. "...my name is Peter Kirkland." he mumbles quietly. " A-and...Arthur's my brother."

The older blond stops for a full minute in shocked silence - how in the world could this child be England's? He hadn't heard of any new nations being built, and surely if this little boy was England's, the Brit would be ecstatic over a little brother. Germany's hand fell to his side, and for a long time the only sound was that of the rain.

Peter looks up at the sky, then back at Germany, "Hey, Mister Germany - " he said quietly, dropping the use of "Ludwig" altogether - because after all, the fact that he was supposedly England's brother meant that he knew these things, didn't he? -" - Mister Germany, you're gonna get wet. Here, take the umbrella," he insists with a small, cheerful smile. Germany looks up at the child and notices that under the damp blond fringe that clung to his forehead, there were thick, black eyebrows.

There is now no doubt in his mind that this boy was telling the truth.

Germany coughs into his fist, then takes the umbrella from Peter's hand and straightens up, still hovering over the child so he did not get any more wet then he already was.

"Well," he mumbles - and he knows he's not very good with kids, but more likely then not this child really is much older then he looks, so he feels a bit more at ease - "If you really are Arthur's brother, then I must extend my hospitality to you. Come inside, I'll get you cleaned up and send you off on your way. I insist."

Peter looks up and Germany can tell that his eyes are widening, his face suddenly clear of the uneasiness and distrust he had for the older man previously and being replaced with nothing but sheer mouth opens halfway, but no words come out. Taking advantage of this, Germany rests his hand on Peter's trembling shoulder and manages a soft, small smile.

"...That's okay?"

"It's alright," the German assures, "I don't mind."

Germany feels a small hand make way into his own. Peter squeezes Germany's hand tightly, as if that was the first gesture of kindness he had ever had, and his eyes light up with the kind of light that one would normally expect from a child. Germany, in turn, smiles back and leads him inside.

The skies begin to clear up.

\\-/

By the time that Germany and Peter make it to the older man's hotel room, the rain had stopped. As soon as the key to the hotel room clicks, Peter is inside, barely allowing Germany the time to open the door. The older man can't help but smile. In an instant, Peter had transformed from a hesitant, distrusting child to a smiling, and - dare he say it - a very chatty one.

Peter runs to the window and presses against it in awe. "How high up are we?" he asks in amazement.

The Germanic nation adjusts his collar as he slips off his business jacket and places it carefully on the back of a nearby chair, "We're on the fifth floor, so I'd say we're up pretty high." he replies, unbuttoning his vest and also discarding that. The clothes he is wearing are soaked, and he needed to change out of the damp articles before he catches a cold. He glances up to the absorbed child, "Do you want me to hang those up?"

Peter looks back at Germany and pouts, sticking out his bottom lip. "No way, I don't want you to see me naked. I can stay like this." At that, the boy turns back to the window, avidly watching the world below. "I don't mind, Mister Germany."

The older man simply raises an eyebrow before turning to the bathroom, searching for any spare towels. He finds a few below the wooden cabinet and pulls one over his shoulders, then leaning out and tossing the other at Peter's head, "You should at least dry your hair. Arthur would have a hissy fit if you caught a cold."

Peter stiffens, and the towel drops to the floor. Germany walks over and scoops the towel from below and covers the child's head with it. He begins to rub, a bit roughly, but Peter does not say anything in protest so he continues his work. After a long moment, Germany allows the towel to fall to the boy's shoulders. He puts one hand to his temple and sighs, "Arthur is your brother, isn't he?"

Germany looks back at Peter to find the smiling boy gone and replaced with a scowling one.

"Of course I'm his brother! Why would I lie about that?"

He blinks, surprised at Peter's anger. The boy continues without making eye contact with the older nation, crossing his arms and narrowing his eyes. "I wouldn't have anything to gain by pretending to be that jerk's brother! I hate him, and he hates me!"

"...I wouldn't be talking about your brother that way."

Peter turns and scowls, obviously upset. Germany approaches the child again but is stopped by another glare as he continues to rant angrily,

"He doesn't give a bloody damn about me! He left me out in the sea all alone when I was a kid! So I don't care about him at all!"

Germany steps closer and kneels down to look at Peter at eye level, even though the boy refuses to make eye contact. He reaches out and puts a hand on Peter's shoulder, but the boy merely shrugs him away.

"...how long ago was that?" Germany asks softly.

"It was a real long time ago, from before I can remember! That jerk used to take care of me, but then once the war ended, I was useless and he threw me out!" Peter shouts, throwing his hands up into the air angrily. He then wipes at his cheeks with the cuffs of his sleeves and sniffs, "He never really cared, he just used me until he was done!"

The boy bows down his head and continues to cry, trying in vain to bait off the tears that Germany knew had to be coming. Germany tries to once again put his hand on Peter's shoulder, but to no avail.

"That...Peter, I'm sure that you're misunderstanding things," he says quietly, "I'm sure your brother is just too busy to come and see you."

"Liar! Everyone says so! Francis, and Matt, and Al all say the same thing! They said I was abandoned!"

Germany's throat tightens painfully at the boy's unabashed words. He looks down at Peter, but this time more pitiful then anything else. "...they said that?"

"Tch! Yeah they did," Peter mumbles angrily, crossing his arms and pressing his back against the wall. "But now nobody cares anymore so I'm stuck here by myself."

The Germanic nation adjusts himself so that he is sitting cross-legged on the floor, then gently takes Peter's arm and pulls him down so the child is sitting next to him. He's never been very good with affection - especially with children - so he simply holds Peter's arm clumsily, unable to do anything else. He mumbles an "I see" and looks away. After a moment, however, something dawns on the German and he looks back up at the boy.

"If you hate your brother so much, why are you in London?"

Peter tenses up again. He curls his knees into his chest, chewing on his bottom lip for an answer. Finding none, he shakes his head. Still, Germany persists,

"Why? Why would you come to London, and stand outside in the rain for days? Are you waiting for - "

Germany stops when Peter jerks his arm away. The child brings his arm to his chest and remains silent. It occurs to the German that perhaps this is a touchy subject, but he continues quietly.

"...are you waiting for him?"

"No!"

This was as much as he expected from the child - a vehement denial. Still, Germany knows that the truth lies much deeper then that. He allows the boy to stand back up and turn away, but Peter does not make a move to leave like Germany expects. Instead, he turns his head back to Germany, a cool look on his face.

"...my name's Sealand, by the way."

The older man blinks, "Excuse me?"

"Sealand. That's my country name. Peter is just my human name. It'd be silly for a country to be called 'Peter', right?"

Germany nods shortly in agreement, "Yes, it is very silly. So you're Sealand, huh.."

"Yep!" Peter giggles, tilting his head. "Nobody else talks to me, though, so I don't get called 'Sealand' very often except for by my prince and his family."

"...no one else talks to you?"

Peter shakes his head, "No, nobody else ever talks to me."

The German is stunned into silence. Slowly, he looks up at the child again, then reaches out to the boy and pulls him back down. Silently, he rubs away the tears brimming out of the child's eyes with a gloved finger. In turn, Peter curls into Germany's chest, and after an awkward pause, Germany gives in and instinctively hugs the blond boy to his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around the trembling, sobbing child.

He allows Peter to cry. Normally, he is irritated by such a display, but Peter's tears are desperate, no doubt held in for years of isolation. Germany can't do anything but hold him. He is clumsy with words, and this instance has left him so tongue tied that he can hardly form thoughts.

After what seemed like hours, finally the boy's sobs silenced. Germany loosens his hold on Peter to find him deep in slumber. He is not surprised in the least, and he stands, cradling the child. Silently, he carries Peter to the couch and pulls a spare blanket over him, then turns to find the phone.

\\-/

"Ah, so Peter found his way to you, then?"

Germany is astounded at the nonchalant voice that replies to his story. He looks down at the corded phone, as if to wonder if he really called the right person, then coughs as he tries again,

"Yes, he did. Since you are his brother, Arthur, I assumed that you would be more worried about him..." he murmurs, rubbing the back of his neck. He looks back at the sleeping Peter with concern, then continues, "He's a child. Why do you let him run around like this?"

England's voice is hard and cold through the phone line as he answers back,"He's not my concern, Ludwig. He never was. I couldn't care less about him. Do what you want, it doesn't matter to me."

"...how can you say that?" Germany asks softly, "How can you say that about your brother? How has he done you wrong?"

"Simple. I don't care about him. Honestly, Ludwig, you shouldn't either."

With that, there is a click, and then Germany's ears are filled with the sound of a dial tone. However, the blood rushing to his head in anger soon drowns the sound out, and the Germanic nation grits his teeth together as he clutches the phone, then slams it down. He looks over to Peter again and the anger grows.

How?

This is a child that England has denied, a child that had done nothing wrong as far as Germany could tell. If he had done something as America had done, Germany could understand the resentment. But...a child...

And England was apathetic.

Germany digs his nails into his fist.

A child, alone...it did not sit well in the older man's stomach.

\\-/

Germany is there when Peter awakes. As the child sits up and rubs his eyes, Germany can't help but smile.

"Guten morgen." he says quietly. Peter starts at the voice, then looks over to the older man and smiles with a tinge of sadness in the corner of his eyes,

"H-hello."

Germany stands, then dusts off his vest. He smiles warmly, "Did you sleep well?"

The boy quickly bobs his head up and down a few times, "Uh-huh."

"Good. You're coming with me, then. We're going back to Germany."

Peter's eyes widen suddenly, surprised at the older man's words. He rubs his eyes again as if to make sure he isn't dreaming, "Huh?"

"You're coming with me. To Germany. It's not healthy for a nation as young as you to live on your own; I talked with Arthur and he obviously does not care for you at all. You are to come with me, live at my house. It's a nice place, and you'll get used to it quickly."

"Y...you called Arthur?"

There is a hint of anger in Peter's voice. Germany is somewhat taken aback, but shrugs it off and nods.

"Yes. And I decided that you should come to my house, live with me."

"Why?"

This question surprises the German once again. He looks down at the child and his eyes soften, "Because you need someone to take care of you."

Peter throws the blanket off of himself and shoots a glare, "No I don't! Get away from me! I'm fine how I am!"

"Peter-"

"Sealand! My name is Sealand!"

"Sealand, please...you can't possibly live on your own..."

The boy walks angrily past Germany and towards the door. He rests his hands on the knob and looks back at the nation for a split second, "I'm not living on my own! I don't need you and I don't want your sympathy!"

With that, the child slams the door shut behind him. Germany is left standing there, astounded.

Why had the boy run away? Germany had simply attempted being kind to him, trying to comfort the lonely-stricken child.

Sighing with these thoughts in mind, the German turns away from the door and instead watches the window. His eyes cast down at the little blond with the sailor suit and matching blue hat as he runs down the cobblestone streets.

It's started to rain again.


	2. Rejected Relationship

Rejected Kindness

[A/N: What was originally supposed to be a one-shot began morphing into my mind as a sequel to "Memories of a Different Time". I began typing out an entire storyline in my precious two weeks of summer vacation. Sadly, I'm not sure if I can live up to the first chapter, but I'll do my very best. Thanks to all the people supporting me and encouraging (read: telling me that I should write more of) this story.

I would like to apologize ahead of time for England's...ahem...language. I have the feeling that the rating on this is going to go up...ah well.]

Chapter Two

A Rejected Relationship

Three days trickle by unceremoniously before it dawns on Germany that he still caught glimpses of the child who had run away from him.

Peter - Sealand - is still there, in London. Germany still sees him, usually from behind, and usually from a distance. He is easy to pick out, with those enormous eyebrows. He seems to see him everywhere - on the sidewalk, at the store, at the U.N. building...

It is at the United Nations building that he most often notices the boy, the single unmoving person on the sidewalk, even if it is raining like it was the first day Germany saw him. The look the child wears is almost wistfully as he gazes up the building, and Germany's stomach clenches tightly when he thinks of how long the child must have been doing this - how many weeks, months, years had it been?

He wondered vaguely why Peter is still there. Then again, he realizes sadly, this was London.

Arthur is here.

Germany does not believe Sealand's claim of hating the Englishman - he hadn't believed it for an instant. If anything, the few hours that he spent with the boy only reaffirmed his belief that Peter pined for his brother's affection - or, at the very least, his attention. Unlike Japan and Italy, his former Axis cohorts, he was able to read between the lines and allow his observations on situations be public, instead of keeping it to himself.

He wouldn't be able to keep this to himself, not if he tried. Somehow, he felt an attachment to Peter, a desire and an instinct to protect the boy from the harsher truths of the world.

Then again, Germany knows nothing about Sealand, spare his name and the few small details he had learned in those precious few hours. It makes him realize that despite being a nation, the world is very large, and even he cannot know everything.

The thought that he cannot save everyone also crosses his mind, but he pushes that away before he believes it.

/-\

Questions race through Germany's mind as the meeting goes on, and he makes no move to take charge, even as things start to go out of hand. He is too consumed in his own thoughts.

Italy, who is sitting next to him, notices the larger man's melancholy almost immediately. He silently inches his hand closer to the Germanic nation's; once he takes it and squeezes lightly, a thoughtful, curious look forms in his eyes. Japan gazes at him softly, but says nothing, as is his policy.

The two know him. They know his subtle expressions and mannerisms; the things that make him Germany. They know when something is wrong - even with Italy's inability to read the atmosphere. Somehow, the blond is grateful for these two - his former Axis cohorts, who understand him even when he says nothing.

After about twenty minutes of mayhem, the room, which had been filled with happy chatter and shouting, (along with the occasional shrieks coming from where China and Russia were sitting), eventually quiets down when everyone realizes that Germany has no intention of yelling at them to get it together - and England awkwardly clears his throat with a cough before he voices what everyone else in the room is thinking,

"What the devil is wrong with you? Feeling under the weather?"

Germany can't help but wince at the obvious sarcasm in his voice; England was wary around him, even more now then he had been before. He sighs, Italy still hanging on his arm, before replying curtly,

"To be honest, yes, I am. But if you, the host of this meeting, are unable to control the antics of the nations around you, then I suppose I must take over. You have never been good at controlling problems in your country, have you? You always abandon them before things become difficult."

The words slip out before Germany has a chance to contain them. Somehow, however, he does not regret them.

England's face turns a deep shade of purple at the insult, and he slams his hands on the table. France attempts to put a reassuring hand on his arm, but England snaps it away. He shoots Germany a dirty look, "You damn Kraut! My country and my problems are none of your damn business! Keep your nose out of things where it doesn't belong!"

"Your mistakes and problems aren't something I take pride in finding, Arthur."

"Then stop fucking looking at them! It's got nothing to do with you, just leave it the hell alone!"

The German cocks an eyebrow, "It?" he asks icily before standing, "You dare call your 'problem' an it?"

"I'll call it whatever I damn well please!" England snarls, green eyes flaring in an icy cold anger. He glares down at the Frenchman who is tugging on his sleeve for him to calm down, "God damn it, Francis, will you pipe down? I can't fucking believe this. Why am I the bad guy here? I didn't do anything that you yourself wouldn't do if you were in my shoes, you Kraut!"

The room is completely silent. Every nation is tensing up, prepared for Germany to do his worst. Some, the Germanic nation suspects, are hoping for a fight.

Instead of pleasing either of these crowds, Germany abruptly pushes his chair back and nudges Italy off his arm. His eyes soften as he sees the tears brimming out of Italy's eyes - he knows nothing, of course he'd be frightened by this outburst - but they harden as soon as they leave the Italian's face and look back up at England. He steps away from the table and turns away, silently fuming, and briskly walks away as England shouts at his retreating back.

"You better run! Fucking around in places nobody wants you!"

It is not until Germany is out of the room and in the hallway when he realizes two things: one, that tears are building in his eyes, and two, there another nation in the hall that had followed him out, resting his hand on the German's shoulder. The German turns to his side to find a blond nation with an abnormally long curly hair standing next to him, his violet eyes sad and knowing. It takes Germany a moment to register the teen standing there, but as soon as he does, he swallows, "Canada. What are you...?"

"You know about Peter."

It was a statement, not a question. Germany's jaw slacks slightly as he stiffens at the quiet, sad smile on the other's face. He swallows and asks quietly, "How...?"

The Northern nation adjusts the polar bear in his arms and sighs slightly, the smile fading from his face, "Peter told me about you. I found him, on the boardwalk, a-and he was crying and upset...s-so I asked him what was wrong, and he told me about you. That you tried to take him to Germany."

Germany's face falls when he recalls the impulsive words, and he rubs the back of his neck shamefully, "Yes. I did...say that, but only for his own good..." he adds after a moment, "You know about - about Peter? I can honestly say I have never heard of 'Sealand' before..."

Canada adjusts the glasses on his nose, pushing them up further on his face, before replying, "It's a well-kept secret, eh...Arthur hates when we talk about him, especially around meeting times. Peter's his little brother - mine too, I guess - and he's always around, trying to sneak into the meetings...even the ones that aren't in England...I've heard that Arthur's caught him trying to sneak on a plane to New York more then once...yeah, me and Al and Francis all know about him. I-I think a few of the other nations do, too, but I'm not sure."

The older man is at a loss at these words. His throat tightens as his thoughts escape him - how had he been able to ignore this, how had he been left in the dark about something so serious for so long? - but he clears it up with a cough before he tries to speak, "He says you don't talk to him. You, nor France, nor America"

The Canadian sighs and shakes his head, "We do talk to him, but not often. A-and that's only because England pitches a fit whenever we do. Still, Al and I manage to see him once a month or so, and Francis visits him a little more often then that...but I guess he assumes we never talk to him, because he's mostly alone anyway, eh?" he adjusts the polar bear in his arms again.

Germany sighs and rubs the back of his neck again, "I see...he's often alone?"

The northern nation freezes slightly. Germany looks over to him, curious, before Canada takes a deep breath and looks down shamefully, his chin nestled in his bear's soft white fur, "...more then you can imagine. H-he has citizens, if you can call them that, but...they mostly travel outside his country...they don't even really live there. Th-they're actually in London right now, but they aren't...with him. Peter mostly does as he pleases...he doesn't really have anyone who really takes care of him..." He looks away, almost shameful, memories glazing over his eyes, "It kills Al that he can't just pluck Peter right up and take him home, it really does."

Germany does not comment. Suddenly, the doors to the meeting room open again. Germany stiffens his back, expecting the worst. However, instead of a crying Italy, or an enraged England, a cheerful pat on the back greets him. He looks back, slightly confused, to find America standing there, grinning like a fool.

"Man, I swear I've never seen you pissed off. It was kinda cool seeing you tell off Arthur, though."

The larger blond grimaces slightly, "What are you doing? Shouldn't you be in the meeting?"

"Shouldn't you?" America asks pointedly, and Germany falls into silence. Ignoring this, America claps his hand on Canada's back, "Hey bro, I see you're still the master of skipping meetings, huh?"

The twin's response was deadpan, "I was sitting next to you. The entire time."

America's grin widens, and he nudges for his fellow blonds to follow him, "Well, whatever, dudes. Say, Germany, since you're skipping out on the meeting, too, how about we all go for drinks? I'll pay for it."

"Al, it's two in the afternoon and I know for a fact you don't have your wallet."

The American's face blushes a bright red. He leans backwards and grabs his twin into a headlock, "Hush up, Mattie! I'm trying to get Germany to come drinking with us!"

"O-ow! Don't come crying to me when you don't have the money to pay for it, eh?"

Germany's face twitches into a smile as he watches the two North American twins fight and argue. Perhaps drinking with them isn't such a bad idea - though he's never been particularly close with the two, he might be able to learn more about Sealand and England's broken relationship. He claps America on the back and smirks, "I wouldn't mind taking you two out for drinks. What do you say, ja? I'll pay for the both of you."

/to be continued


	3. Rejected Happiness

_Rejected Kindness, a Hetalia fanfiction_

_by RishiandSquee_

_Chapter Three: Rejected Happiness_

An hour later, the countries are at a small, somewhat old-looking English pub. Germany is leaning against the table, downing his third drink. America is curled up into an old wooden chair; still cradling his first. His blue eyes dart around the room, at the jukebox or the bartender - trying to do anything to avoid eye contact. His twin is on his seventh drink. Before Germany can speak, the Northern nation downs the rest of his drink and places it on the table.

He looks up at the German, violet eyes flickering in the dim bar light. Canada curls his lips into a soft smile, trying to reassure the older blond. He gently reaches over to take America's drink away, and the blue eyed twin does not protest. Canada sets it down and exhales softly, seemingly sober, despite what his alcohol levels must be.

"So, what do you want to know about him?"

Both Germany and America give Canada a look. The Canadian sighs again and shakes his head. He pushes his glasses further up his nose and gives the two his own look.

"About Peter. What do you want to know about him?"

Germany's throat tightens again. He leans backwards to take a nearby chair, then brings it closer and eases into it. He sets his own drink on the studies the stained wooden table for a few moments before looking up at the twins. America's eyes seem a bit wet - though why, Germany has no idea - and Canada's face, normally full of emotion, is hard and cold. This disturbs the German greatly, but he pushes past the sinking feelings and adjusts himself into a more comfy sitting position.

"I want to know everything. Who is he, why does England...treat him so badly? Why haven't you two done anything about this...this tragedy?" Germany asks softly.

America shrinks back and reaches out for his half-empty glass on the table. He cradles it, but makes no move to drink the rest of it down. The superpower looks up, and then down - until finally, his eyes rest on the Germany. He clears his throat before Canada can speak, and starts speaking with a smile,

"His name is Peter Kirkland...guess you know that already, huh?" he chuckles softly, tipping his cup back and forth ever so slightly. His eyes gaze at the drink, avoiding both pairs of eyes on him, "He's a fort, I think. A war fort. He's not even supposed to be...well, personified, technically. He was made - _built_ - during the second World War."

Germany feels a pang in his chest. Bringing up the second World War always makes him feel nauseated. The things that his boss did - the things he knew nothing about until after the war had ended at the horrible truths about his boss had been revealed - always horrified him, no matter how many years slipped by. He had trusted his boss enough to let him do as he pleased - and in the end, it had hurt Germany more then anything.

He is broken from his thoughts by America's voice. He tries to focus on the sounds and not his own horrifying past.

"...I don't know much, to be honest, but...I mean, Fort Roughes didn't do much in the war. I don't think England would let Peter get anywhere near you..even though that was what he was designed to do. He kept Peter at his side, so the fort pretty much did nothing...I think France was living with them for a while, because of the occupation..."

America pauses, then tilts his head back as he drains the glass of remaining beer. Canada puts a strong hand on his twins shoulder as America slumps down to the table, and hesitantly continues, "France was living with England 'cos of the occupation...he had to go into hiding for a while...well, from his country, at least. And Arthur didn't want Peter anywhere near the warfront, so...so yeah, Peter was always at Arthur's side"

He snorts, then buries himself deeper into his bomber jacket, "A fat load that did him, huh...Peter's still abandoned. England abandoned him as soon as he could."

Germany exhales sharply, temporarily ignoring America's obviously hurt voice in order to clarify something for himself.

"You say he was supposed to fight me?"

America's gaze darkens temporarily, but he clears it up with a short nod and speaks before Canada can, "Yeah, to...stop your submarines, and your bombs and such. He's only a few miles from the shores of England - really close, actually, but it was in International Waters at the time of the war."

Germany leans back with a simple 'I see' and gestures for the bartender to bring another drink. He downs this one with relative ease, then sets down the empty glass before looking back up. America interrupts before Germany can speak,

"You feel guilty."

He looks up, and America is looking back at him. Germany quickly averts his eyes away and leans back, "Why wouldn't I?" he asked softly, "From what I know, Arthur abandoned the boy...without so much as a simple explanation. It's like how it was with you, Alfre - "

"It was much worse."

Germany looks up, startled, as the one who says this is not America, but Canada, who had remained quiet since America had taken over the conversation. His blazing purple eyes are hard and angry, in a way that the German had not seen since the first World War. The northern nation clenches his teeth as he clutches the glass in front of him, his hands shaking. Canada shakes his head in disgust,

"It was much worse then with Al. Alfred left Arthur, not the other way around. And Peter's barely a child! Even when Arthur abandoned him, he was hardly a few years old! At least Arthur had the _decency_ to keep Alfred and I around for a few hundred years!" Canada takes a sharp breath in as he slams his glass down onto the table, eyes still flaring. Both Germany and America are stunned into silence at the outburst. Canada takes another deep breath and swallows, "I - I'm sorry."

The German shakes his head, "Don't be. You're perfectly alright...I can understand your resentment."

"I-it's just..." Canada bows his head down again and sniffs feebly as America gently reaches over to rub his shoulders, "He hurt Peter. A...a lot. And I just...when I remember what happened...he loved Peter, h-he did...I know he did...Peter made him so happy, but Arthur just...he _rejected_ that..."

America merely shakes his head in disbelief. Germany's throat tightens again, and he shakes his thoughts away as he stands. He looks down at the Canadian, who is now softly sobbing with his head hung low; and the American who is near tears. He shoves his hand into his pocket in order to bring out a handful of bills; without even looking, he puts it down on the table. He makes his way around to table and reaches down to America, placing his hand on the super power's shoulder.

America looks up and nods. He gently helps Canada to his feet, and the three leave the bar in silence.

Germany can't help but feel that this meeting has left him with more questions then answers.


	4. Rejected Brother

**Rejected Kindness**

**Chapter Four**

( - )

Somehow, Germany is not surprised when he sees Sealand again the next day. The sky is gloomy once again, and the blond child is sitting in the lobby of the United Nations meeting hall - soaking wet from having been in the rain.

The older man is somewhat surprised, however, by the thick blanket wrapped around his person and the mug of hot chocolate in his hands.

He approaches the child with caution. The meeting doesn't begin for another hour, though most of the other nations are already there, happily chatting away and enjoying a late breakfast in the cafeteria. Most have brought their own lunches in lieu of England's cooking. Germany fights down the knot in his stomach and sits down next to Peter.

Sealand looks up, and for a moment the look of surprise on his face makes Germany think that perhaps the boy did want to see him. However, within a moment, the surprise and - dare Germany think it - the happiness on the boy's young features melt away into a scowl. Sealand turns back to his hot chocolate and sips in angry silence. It takes a moment for Germany to gather the nerve to speak first,

"...is that hot chocolate good?"

Sealand glances at Germany as he lowers the mug, licking his lips of the remaining warm drink on his face. He nods slowly, suspicious of the Germanic nation.

"Uh-huh. The secretary gave it to me. Said that I'll catch chill if I stay outside too long." He takes another small sip, "Said that her boss told her t' give it to me...Arthur told her to give it to me."

Germany's stomach drops as the boy says this. He adjusts his collar and turns his line of sight away from Sealand and to the lingering nations in the lobby. He inhales and then exhales slowly, "I see."

There is silence for another moment. Sealand continues to sip on his cocoa until the entire mug is drained. He then gazes up at Germany with a knowing look in his eyes.

"'That's all you ever say, isn't it?" he asks softly, "When you don't know how to deal with things that are happening around you, you say 'I see', and then get all quiet, and you don't really talk much after that."

Germany looks down in surprise at the knowing boy. He adjusts his collar again and nods slightly, "I suppose I do. It's a habit."

The two fall back into the silence, until finally Germany clears his throat again and stands. He smiles down slightly at Peter, who is looking up at him in mild curiosity. The German reaches down to pat Sealand's head with a bit of affection, his fingers lingering on the rough blond hair before withdrawing. A wry smile is on Germany's face.

"I'll be right back. I've got to put my coat in the closet; I don't want to catch cold by sitting in these wet clothes. How about after, I take you to get some breakfast? I doubt you've had anything to eat, other then that cocoa, and having nothing but junk food is unhealthy," he says, shrugging off his wet outer garment. Peter nods, and with a smile Germany turns and walks away.

The lobby is completely empty, except for the two blonds. Germany reaches the closet and ducks in, trying to find a hanger for his coat, before he freezes.

He thought that the two had been alone. But another voice was speaking now - a British voice. His blood runs cold as he realizes that England must have stepped into the lobby when Germany had left.

And England was standing right above Peter; an angry look on his face.

Germany's first instinct is to run over to Sealand, to wrap his arms around the boy and pull him away from England. However, the conversation that he is beginning to pick up makes him pause, more curious then he would like to admit.

"What the devil are you doing here, lad? Didn't I tell you not to come to London?" England's voice asks, a hint of irritation in his words.

Peter replies promptly, and without fail, "My prince is here; what else can I do? I have to make sure that you don't do anything to try and kidnap him. I have to protect him, because he's the prince of my country."

Germany steps slightly out of the closet, his coat still in his hands, and takes in the scene. Arthur is standing there, thankfully with his back turned away from Germany, his arms crossed and a scowl no doubt on his face. Sealand is looking up at him, attention also directed away from the German; his eyebrows are furrowed together, almost glaring up at the elder Kirkland. He cannot picture the expression on England's face as the Brit continues, annoyance still lacing his voice.

"I keep telling you, you're not a country. For God's sake, you've got four citizens and your country is barely the size of a building. Now bugger off and go practice your letters or something, none of us have time for you."

Sealand's face scrunches up, the corners of his mouth pointing as far down as possible. He crosses his arms and turns his head to the side, scoffing, "You're the one who told the secretaries to let me in! If you would just recognize me as a country, then I could join the United Nations and make friends! It's obvious that you don't intend on rectifying our relationship anytime soon, so sod off and leave me the hell alone, stupid bastard!"

Germany can't help but feel proud surging through his veins for the child standing up for himself.

This pride, however, diminishes when Arthur raises a flat hand and brings it down to the boy's cheek. Ludwig freezes; his entire body in shock as he watches Sealand tumble backwards from the bench. The mug that the boy was holding also falls, shattering in half when it makes contact with the ground.

England tsks and bends over to collect the mug, which has split in half, but makes no move to help Sealand. The child shoots another hard glare at England as he picks himself up, dusting his trousers and clenching his fists.

"That hurt, you jerk! What was that for?"

"For not listening to me! Now, look, you've smashed one of my favorite mugs! If you didn't come to London, you wouldn't have to hurt! Now get the bloody hell off of my island!"

Germany can see Sealand's face change; the furious, stubborn look that the child bore just moments before is gone, and replaced with a hurt, sad one.

He can't tell if England either does not see it or chooses to ignore it, but before the tall blond can swoop in, the child side steps away from England. He turns and runs, and soon he pushes the door open and runs into the street. Germany can hear a few rumbles of thunder before the doors slam shut.

Germany is at a loss for words at the abuse. Silently, he strides back into sight, and his eyes meet England's for an instant. However, the look in the Brit's green eyes was not hate. Germany feels his throat tighten at the sad, hurt look in England's eyes that mirrored Sealand had just moments before. Germany's stomach tightens as he turns away and heads for the door.

( - )

The rain is pounding down when Germany opens the door. The storm had gotten much worse in the past hour - the blond nation can hardly see a few feet in from of him. However, this does not deter him - if anything, it pushes him even more to find Sealand. He swerves around, trying to catch a glimpse of the broken-hearted boy.

Squinting his icy blue eyes, he opens his mouth to shout,

"Peter! Peter, where are you?"

He turns around quickly, getting desperate. His mind is racing, he has to find Sealand, he has to make sure the boy is okay…

He shouts again, "Sealand! Please, answer me!"

Just as he is about to turn back inside - to get America or Canada, someone to help him - he feels a tiny hand tugging at his side. Germany arches his head down, surprised to find that the blond child is directly under him. His eyes soften.

Sealand, however, does not look so happy to see the older blond. He scowls, then takes a step away, "Go away."

"I can't just leave you here, it's not right!" the older man protests, eyes wide in worry. Germany grabs Sealand's shoulder with both of his hands as the rain beats down on the two. He ignores it to bring Sealand forward, to his chest, and holds him there. Germany bows his head and speaks louder then he intends,

"I can't just leave you here! It's raining and you're obviously hurt, please!" Germany shouts, more desperate then anything, "Just come with me! You don't need Arthur, you don't need anyone who treats you so badly! I don't care what anyone says, you need someone who loves you! I don't want you in his care anymore!"

Sealand steps back, his eyes hard, "Sh...shut up," he warns, his voice strained, "Shut up, I...I don't need anyone…"

"We both know that's a lie!" Germany pleads, reaching out to grab Peter's arm. The child shifts in discomfort at this, but the older man squeezes and pulls him tries to examine the child, whose eyes are surrounding by a blotchy pinkness, and were wet - though from rain or tears, Germany doesn't know - and Sealand once again pulls away. Germany reaches out again, "Please! You're not strong enough on your own!"

This seems to anger the child, but the words are too late to be retracted. Peter scowls and takes a step back, "I...I am too! I'll show you, you stupid...you stupid jerk!"

The elder nation's eyes widen at his mistake, and he reaches out again, "P-Peter, no…"

"Sealand! My name is Sealand! Don't you dare try and call me that name!" Sealand yells, his eyes angry, "And don't you dare take pity on me! I can't stand any of you big shots, the way you think you can boss me around and pretend to be my friends and abandon me!"

The boy turns, and despite Germany's continued protests, breaks into a run. Germany immediately goes after him, but the streets are unevenly paved and slippery, and he soon falls to the ground. He looks up almost immediately, but it is too late, and Peter has disappeared into the pounding rain.

A/N: the end of the chapter, for now. I hope you enjoyed!


	5. Rejected Little Family

**Rejected Kindness**

**Chapter Five**

**((A/N: thank you all kindly for the reviews! I honestly wasn't expecting much for this fic, but you guys have proved me wrong. Thanks for that.))**

( - )

Germany forces himself back into the building after another few moments of looking for Sealand in vain. He shuffles inside, his clothing now soaked to the bone. The secretary immediately begins to fret that he will catch a cold, but the German merely shrugs her off. He isn't the one who needs kindness at the moment; that honor goes to the little boy that he had allowed to slip through his fingers.

He sighs as he continues to stride down the hallways; how had he gotten involved in such a mess? Germany has no idea what was going through either Kirkland's head. Peter was a broken mess, and Arthur seemed to not care at all - so much that he would even strike the child at not even a moment's notice. It honestly weighed down on Germany's chest more then he would have liked it to - and he had to go back into the meetings and pretend nothing was wrong.

Honestly, that was the last thing Germany wanted - having to deal with Arthur's hard, cold glares; America and Canada's guilty gazes. He considered skipping again, but skipping even one meeting was taboo - he wouldn't be able to skip two in a row. His boss would probably be stunned at the strict nation's negligence once he caught wind of this entire situation.

Germany shakes the thoughts from his head as he opens the door to the meeting room; he expects to be alone, for the meetings don't really start for another twenty minutes, and it normally took another half hour after the meeting officially started for every nation to gather. It seems like a good time as any to gather his thoughts.

However, there is another in the room.

Sitting in the room, feet on the table and leaning back in his chair, was the Netherlands. Germany does a double take, his mouth agape.

The Dutchman's chair is tipped back; his feet rest on the table without a care for the mud caked on his shoes. Netherlands glances up at Germany, a sour look on his face. However, before Germany can excuse himself to find a quieter place, the elder nation removes his feet from where they were resting and pulls out the chair that had been next to him.

"Sit. You got something on your mind."

It was an order, not a suggestion. Germany cringes slightly, but nevertheless he strides forward to take the seat. He scoots in and sighs, resting his forehead in his palms. He can hear the Netherlands reach for something in his pocket; it takes a minute for the elder nation to shake on the German's shoulder.

Germany looks back to find a cigarette in the hand that the Netherlands is reaching towards him; a lighter peeks out of his other. Without words, the blond takes the cigarette out of Netherlands' hands and mutters his thanks. He pops it into his mouth, and the Netherlands lights it up without asking.

The cigarette, despite how Germany is not fond of them, calms him down. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out through his mouth, watching as the smoke floats into the air. He looks over to the Dutchman, who is lighting his own. The Netherlands glances over and makes a sour face,

"Quit looking at me like that, I didn't do anything to you."

It is then that the blond realizes that his face must be a wet, blotchy mess; embarrassed, he wipes it slightly before muttering an apology. He and the Nordic have never gotten along quite well and Germany isn't sure what brought on this random act of kindness. Before he can ask, Netherlands speaks,

"I saw you. With the kid, what's his name...England's brat."

Ludwig lowers his head slightly, sighing as he takes another drag of the cigarette. He nods lightly, "Yeah. There are some...issues there."

"Mmm...I know. Met 'im once. Was drinking out with Arthur and we came home to find the brat curled up on the porch. Honestly, 's a sad sight." he replies, exhaling the smoke, "Arthur gave 'im one hell of a scolding."

This causes the German to do a double take, "You know? About...about Peter?"

"Kinda hard to ignore him. He's all over London, y'know." the elder man retorts, rolling his eyes slightly, "Don't know much about 'im, though, 'cept he's England's brat."

Germany's face falls, and he turns to look at his hands in order to avoid the Netherlands' gaze, "I see…"

He is silent after that. The Nordic finishes his smoke without saying anything else before standing up to leave the room.

( - )

Germany sits through the entire meeting, which goes without incident. However, his chest is still heavy with the burdens it had taken on without knowing.

He glances over to the empty seat next to him as the meeting goes on - Netherlands never came back. England had simply shrugged it off and called the meeting to order once every other country was gathered. Germany doesn't know why the Dutchman never returned after their conversation, but he pushes these thoughts to the back of his mind as he focuses on getting the meeting in order.

It doesn't take much, to be honest - besides, many of the nations are relived that Germany is back to his old self. However, five nations in the meeting hall are aware that the German is simply pushing aside his worries - Italy, Japan and Canada are gazing at him quietly in concern. It doesn't help much, but Germany does feel a bit reassured with the three nation's soft eyes.

America and England avoid his gaze altogether, albeit for completely separate reasons - America because he is not good with feelings; England because of the searing hatred the Brit must be feeling against him.

Germany can't blame either of them for avoiding him.

( - )

The meeting ends without incident. Germany, relieved, is about to stand up and leave when he notices another gaze on him, one that has been watching him the entire time. He turns, almost surprised enough to be startled.

France is gazing at him softly as the German stands, eyes unmoving. Suddenly, the conversation that Canada and America had with him yesterday comes rushing back to Germany's mind.

"_France was living with England 'cos of the occupation during that time..."_

Germany stands upright, slamming his hands down on the table. A few nations turn their heads towards him in concern, but he merely waves them off. His eyes are focused on France, who has also not lifted his gaze from the younger blond. The German is about to rush over to France right then and demand the complete story, but he freezes when the French nation puts a finger to his lips and winks.

Not a moment later, England is at France's side, and the two share a good-natured argument - Germany is too unfocused to listen to what they are saying, but after a few minutes, England clocks the elder blond over the head and storms off. France chuckles and rubs at the sore spot, and Germany decides then to make his move.

He walks right over to France, the blush on his face building - he has never liked France all that much, and likewise, France tends to abhor him - but there must be some way of making a temporary truce, he must be able to pay for something in order to gain information -

France looks up at the sweating, muscular German and chuckles, "You have never been one who is subtle, have you, Ludwig?" he chides lightly, grinning. "Now, I can only assume that you came to ask Big Brother for help?"

The German swallows down a glare and keeps the comments bubbling in his stomach silent, his face hot, and stutters, "I - I want you to - "

"Ah, _mon cher_ Ludwig, do not be so stiff," France tuts, reaching up a hand to brush the wavy blond hair out of his own face; the amused little smile still hanging on his lips, "You were hoping to talk about Peter, non?"

Germany gives a short nod before clearing his throat, "H-how did you-"

"My dear _Mathieu_ told me of your conversations earlier, and that I should expect you to come here to me at one point or another for information," France replies without needing to hear the rest, "But even if he had not informed me, I would have made guesses from your cryptic conversation with _Angleterre_ yesterday. You do not have a way with being subtle, you know, though I do believe I told you that not a moment earlier."

The German bows his head and bites on his lip, "Please, I'll do whatever it takes for you to talk…"

France blinks, "Really?" he asks, slightly surprised, "Even if I force you to make cuckoo clocks for the rest of eternity?"

Germany shudders but remains silent. If France indeed intends for Germany to work for this information, he'll willingly do it...for now. He could always force France into submission later.

The silence causes France to burst into a fit of chuckles. He looks at Germany as if the younger blond had swallowed a frog, "_Mon Dieu, _Ludwig," he replies, wiping away a tear in his eye, "You are so serious all the time! Really, you should know when people are teasing you or not...yes, I will be happy to tell you of the times that I spent in Arthur's house, when Peter was growing from an infant to what he is today. Big Brother would never force you to do work for that child's sake, you know. I am quite fond of Peter, and wish him nothing but the best."

The younger blond nods in earnest, "I want to know - "

France puts a finger to Germany's lip and tuts, "Not here, Ludwig," he warns, and despite the smile on his face, his eyes say otherwise and cause Germany to quiet down. The older man glances over to England, who is arguing with a grinning America, before looking back up at the German. Immediately, the young blond understands and nods, stepping back.

"When…?"

"Tonight, in my hotel room," France replies, producing a piece of paper from his sleeve and scribbling something down on it - an address, Germany realizes - before handing it over to the younger, "Here. Meet tonight, let's say around nine? Big brother needs his beauty sleep, you know, so please, come early."

Germany give a short nod, and with that France smiles again before turning around and walking away.


	6. Rejected Hope, Part One

**Rejected Kindness**

**Chapter Six**

( - )

Germany takes a deep breath in, then lets it out slowly. He reminds himself why he is here, late at night in front of France's hotel room - he needs to find out more about Peter. Though Germany has never been fond of France in general, he needed to do this. He needed to get any information he could out of the self-proclaimed nation of love.

He takes another deep breath, then knocks on the door.

Immediately, it is opened, as if it had been expected - though, Germany muses, it probably was. He was half an hour early, but France must be as anxious as he is. This seems to calm him down a bit - he is able to focus on the task at hand.

France's face is unexpectedly soft, which takes the German aback a little; however, the elder nation's face breaks out into a smile as he opens the door wider, allowing Germany access inside.

It is a simple hotel room; there is a king sized bet, a television, and a desk, which is piled on with papers in a messy fashion. Germany gives a short nod, and France reaches out to nudge Germany in.

"Ah, Ludwig, do not be so serious all the time." he chides lightly, clicking his tongue in good nature. His smile is reassuring; and despite Germany's discomfort with the elder nation, he feels almost at ease. France continues, drawing the Germanic nation into the room, "Please, seat yourself anywhere you find desirable; I will get you something to drink posthaste."

"No thank you, Francis," Germany replies, waving his hand in decline as he seats himself in a wicker chair, "I don't need anything to drink; there are much more serious matters to attend to."

France tuts at this, and before Germany can protest further the elder blond nation is at the mini refrigerator that rests next to the bedside. He crouches down to examine the wines that nestled inside., then sighs lightly, clicking his tongue again in dissatisfaction, "Ah, i _Angleterre_ /i , your wine choices are as tasteless as always." he mutters, "Really, do you not have anything that does not taste like a mashup of everything but the kitchen sink?"

Despite his griping, France pulls out a bottle of wine and swipes away a few papers on the desk in order to rest two wine glasses there. Humming a bit, the blond fills the glasses with ease. France places one glass besides Germany and settles himself down on the bed, taking a small sip. Germany looks down at his glass in discomfort, wondering if he should take a sip as well. Before the glass reaches his lips, however, France speaks,

"Arthur did love him, you know...I believe, he loves Peter now just as much as a mother loves her child, no matter what show he may put on in hating the boy."

The glass is lowered. Germany looks over to France incredulously; how was it possible for France to outright say something like that, if he had known what was going on? Germany swallows and shakes his head,

"I wouldn't believe that so easily, Francis. I understand that you know Arthur better then anyone, but - "

"And it is i _precisely_ /i because I know Arthur that I can say such things," France retorts as he skates a finger across the rim of his wine glass. He sighs and leans back, tipping the glass into his mouth to drain its contents. After the last drop of wine is gone, he looks over to Germany; his eyes soft and knowing, "I have watched him for many years, especially on this subject. I found Peter's abandonment out of character for Arthur; there has never been any doubt in my mind that the affections Arthur once had for Peter still linger, perhaps even stronger now then back then."

Germany can't think of anything to say without protesting further, so after a moment of silence France begins his story.

"I met Peter in the year 1943. It was March, I believe...or, perhaps February. There was a light dusting of snow in London when Arthur brought home Peter," France laughs a bit as he reaches over to grab the bottle of wine once again; however, he makes no move to pour himself a glass - instead, he chooses to close his eyes to whisk himself back to those memories. "I was living with Arthur at the time, because of the occupation, which, I suppose, you have already learned from Alfred and i _Mathieu_. /i …"

France keeps his gaze from Germany, eyes locked on the rim of his glass of wine, "...however, one day, Arthur was called away to inspect Fort Roughs...many of the soldiers claimed that it was haunted, for they could hear an infant's wails and cries for many hours in the night, and sometimes in the day. They claimed to be hearing such noises since the fort had been sunk into the channel...let's see, I believe it had been one week."

He pauses again, rolling over the thoughts in his mind. Germany is enraptured; he can't help but want to know more. After what seems like an eternity, France continues, the smile on his face still prodding forward.

"The very night after he left, Arthur brought home a then-infant Peter. He said he had found him hidden in the metals of the fort, and claimed that the boy had to be a personification, though such a thing was unheard of. Who would expect a fort made of steel to have a personification?" France chuckles, then finally pours himself another glass of wine. He tips his head back to drain it once again and exhales. He seems somewhat amused, but if there is a joke, he keeps it to himself.

"It's funny, you know; once upon a time, Arthur took care of Alfred as a child. His eyes, which were normally ruthless green orbs of destruction, became softer when Alfred held his hand. When Peter was born, that softness came back to him...I suppose Peter reminded Arthur of Alfred more then he would ever admit sober." France tips his empty glass towards himself, inhaling the lingering scent of wine. Germany shifts, eager to hear more, and France obliges,

"Peter was supposed to be used for war; however, Arthur would not let the boy leave his side. I suppose hew as afraid of not being needed, just like with Alfred, and kept Peter next to him as much as he possibly could to prevent that from happening."

France looks away, his gaze tinted with shame, or something Germany cannot quite put his finger on - guilt, perhaps, or something along the lines of pity. The elder nation remains silent for so long that Germany begins to get antsy, shifting in place in order to bait off the never ending silence. France chuckles at Germany's anxiety and smiles softer still,

"Perhaps, this is a story for another time? You seem to be on edge, Ludwig - you should finish your glass."

Germany shakes his head in decline, still holding the glass firmly in his hands. He looks at France with determination, " i _Nein_. /i I came here to listen to this story, and by no means am I going to stop you from going on. If anything, I'm more curious and determined to sit this story though."

Finding this answer satisfying, France laughs and shakes his head, "You never change, do you…anyway, I digress. The war, as you know, ended in 1945 - and Peter was a war fort. Now that there was no war, the forts that England built - I believe there were three or four, besides Peter, forgive me for not recalling how many exactly - were to be destroyed."

The Germanic nation's throat tightens painfully; he is at a loss for words. France, looking up to see the pained expression on Germany's face, sighs sadly and shakes his head.

"I had returned to France at that point, however, and thus my information on that time is vague at best...though, on the few nights that Arthur and I spent drinking at that time, he seemed very troubled. His Parliament, finding no use for the war forts, planned to destroy each of them brick by brick - however, Arthur protested against this, at times quite violently. Peter, of course, was left in the dark the entire time this was going on,"

After sad little chuckle, France adds, "It wound up in a compromise. Peter was to be dropped off at Fort Roughs and Arthur was to cease contact with him; however, the fort would be used for a variety of purposes." France takes a swig of wine, this time directly from the bottle, "...you know, in France, we have a word for the kinds of purposes Arthur gave to Parliament - we call them i _excuses_. /i "

Germany can't help but crack a small smile at France's words, then reaches up to finally drain his glass of alcohol. He breathes out and nods, "So that's how things ended up like this…"

France looks up, catching Germany's eyes, and looks back down again. He has a funny look on his face, and can't help but chuckle, "... i _Non_ /i That is not the end to this sad little tragedy. If it was, then Peter would not be proclaiming himself a country; nor would Arthur feel the kind of guilt and hatred that he does. Non, this story is much, much deeper then that...for the excuses Arthur made ran out eleven years afterwards, in nineteen fifty six."

He gives the younger blond a grave look, "Nineteen fifty six, you see, is when Peter Kirkland - Fort Roughs - slowly began to die."

small A/N: Well, this chapter was, how do I put it...really easy to write. I had a more difficult time with Chapters Five and Six then with this. I hope you all enjoyed, and I apologize for leaving this on a cliffhanger. I will be writing posthaste, and I pray you will be looking forward to the next installment of "Rejected Kindness"!


	7. Rejected Hope, Part Two

**Rejected Kindness**

**Chapter Seven**

Germany's entire world stops.

The younger blond nearly forgets to breathe for a few moments, and even when he does suck in a long breath, his chest is so tight that he almost isn't able to exhale. Germany swallows down the lump in his throat and gives France an incredulous look, "Francis, what do you…?"

"When a personification is no longer useful, it begins to deteriorate." France replies back, softer this time. He sits up and reaches over to place his wine glass on the table; pushing it with the tips of his fingers in order too make sure it was not in danger of falling. His eyes are serious now, in a way that Germany is uncomfortable seeing - as if it's taboo to see the French nation without a smile.

France sighs and reaches over to place his hand on top of Germany's, which the young Germanic nation notices is trembling. He steadies himself and looks over France, his face asking the questions that he himself was unable to voice. Finding this a bit funny, France smiles sadly and withdraws, placing his hands on his lap. He shakes his head and averts his blue eyes,

"You, Ludwig, have never seen a nation truly die. Your brother, despite how his nation was dissolved in the forties, is still alive because people need him...that is how I believe the modern era works. In ancient times, things were much more unstable...with constant warfare and invasions, it was hard to keep track of who lived and who died. But now, with history so important in the lives of humans, it seems as if Gilbert continues to live because others keep him alive." Francis shrugs his shoulders and leans back. "I am not completely sure why he continues to exist, though I am far from complaining. I am merely musing on these facts, and why such things happen."

Leaning forward, Francis blows out a small breath. "When a nation finally does die, however, it is a slow, painful process. The lands in which a nation rules over still exist; and the people still exist, but the nation eventually disappears into nothing once darkness chokes the life out of them. I have seen it happen, and it is not a pretty sight."

France closes his eyes - out of pain, Germany realizes. The younger blond reaches over to touch France's shoulder, as if to give him some of the reassurances that Germany had received from France just moments before, but the elder waves his hand away and looks back up.

"It is bad enough when a personification of great power dies. This will happen to all of us. Someday, it will happen to you and myself, to Arthur, and Alfred...but we have lived fulfilled lives, for hundreds of years - thousands, in Arthur's and my case - and I am positive that none of us would regret leaving this world for the next. I certainly don't, because I understand that new nations and new life will take our places to rule…

"And yet," he adds, "Peter was scarcely three years old when Arthur left him on Fort Roughs, and thirteen years old when he was finally abandoned by the state of England. That is, even in human terms, the age of a child - and in our years, it is barely infancy."

France finally stops speaking for a moment to bite down on his lip; Germany takes the chance to speak,

"But you say - Francis, I don't understand. You said that he was i _dying_ /i . How is it that he - that he's still here?"

The elder gives him a chiding look, then lowers his head in a chuckle, "I was getting to that. You can be very impatient sometimes, Ludwig. Your forehead gets all scrunched up in worry lines and makes you look so much older then you really are..."

"I - my apologies, Francis. Please, by all means…"

"As I was saying, the death of a personification is a slow process that takes many years, even if that personification has no nation or population. It was especially slow for Peter, as he was made of metal - and metal rusts easily, but never truly deteriorates. He suffered soon after the last soldiers left his care, and began to get sick. I was the one who went to Roughs in order to care for him"

France's eyes flicker with an instant of pain; memories of the time bubbling over. He looks away from his hands, focusing his attention on a corner of the room in order to keep talking, "And that entire time, Peter suffered in silence. I was unable to care for him at all times - my boss had no knowledge of Fort Roughs, nor Peter...still, I felt it was my duty to care for the child, since Arthur would not. I felt it was my duty to coax Peter and comfort him, even as he slipped from this world...as all nations eventually do. As Ancient Rome once did. As Holy Rome did. As...as Gaul, my _papa_, did. I have seen many nations suffer in such a way, that I feel it is now my duty to comfort those sad, lost nations...Peter especially." he pauses for a moment, eyes glazing over with a warm sort of memory. "...Peter was special to me, you know. Like a son. Arthur and I raised him, from birth, and I just...became so attached to him. He lit up both Arthur's and my lives."

France's mouth turns up into a sad smile, but Germany can see the pity and pain in his eyes. France nods slightly to himself and takes a deep breath, "Ah...I seem to be getting off track. My apologies, Ludwig."

"N - no, it's fine." Germany replies softly, rubbing at the back of his neck. He wants to know more about those memories, the ones that Francis looked upon fondly. Where Arthur was smiling, and laughing, baby Peter clinging to him as a child does to his mother. However, he knows that if he asks, it will only make this story more painful, so he simply retreats back into the safety of silence. Silence is where he doesn't need to worry about his words betraying him.

"Mmm...It took eleven years of suffering before Peter was just on the brink of death...and, to be honest, I welcomed the day. I could not see him in such pain and suffering any longer. He was constantly calling for Arthur, calling for England, his mother land, to take care of him...he was like that every night. Alfred and Mathieu finally found out what was happening, and they made unofficial trips to see the boy a final time...Arthur remained in his study, in England, where nothing seemed to touch him. Alfred and Mathieu thought he was heartless, not even to say goodbye. Looking back, though, I can see that Arthur was suffering more then us, simply because he couldn't say his final farewells to a child who brought so much light to all of us…"

Pausing, France looks back up, the pain on his face finally fading into nothingness. He chuckles as he shakes his head, as if he remembered a joke of sorts. "However, one day, a certain Prince of Sealand landed on his docks. Nineteen sixty seven, you see, is when Roy Bates of England took over what is now Sealand."

At that moment, Germany understands where France is going with this conversation, and breaths out a sigh of relief,

"So that's what happened. With Bates declaring 'Sealand' a country, Peter began to get stronger again. With a population and a - a i _purpose_, /i he was saved from dying. He began to hate Arthur and - "

"You are half right," France interrupts before Germany can finish, "In that Bates did indeed save Peter from death. Peter's strength grew almost overnight; soon, he was healthy as a horse, as you might put it. However, this did not stop him from vying for Arthur's affections. You see, soon after he was declared a country, Peter went to visit Arthur in London. I do not know much of the events that transpired, for neither of the two will speak of it, but I do know that when I visited Peter next, he was as you see him today...broken. Yet, he still smiled and honestly believed that Arthur wanted him. It took quite a few months...very painful months for all involved...for Peter to realize that Arthur would not accept him, no matter how hard he tried. As to why that is, I have never found out. Arthur's lips are sealed on that subject."

Taking a deep sigh, Francis leans back, knitting his fingers together as he presses his head against the bedpost. He bites on his lip for a moment longer, before adding, "And yet, even today, Peter desires that affection more then anything else; though he cannot remember much of the time where Arthur took care of him, it is a natural instinct. He wants that affection, that love, that Arthur showered him with once upon a time. That is why he is always to be found in London. He instinctively wants to be accepted by his older brother, and it is a very sad thing when both parties throw aside their feelings because they feel they have both lost before the battle even ends."

The elder blond takes a breath and looks down; a few moments pass before he speaks again, not looking up,

"You know, when I look at Peter, I see Arthur. It is not just their looks; it is their attitudes, and, how do you put it...their fears. They were both terrified of rejection, and between Arthur's stubbornness and Peter's undying distrust, they keep missing each other on the bridge of understanding. It pained me to watch them interact over the years, as it does now, even more so because of how badly they treat each other.

"Arthur's words and actions are like…" Francis pauses, lifting his finger to the stubble on his chin, deep in thought for a few moments before speaking again, "They are like…blades. And Peter is a branch of a tree that, in the eyes of the state of England, needs to be hacked off. Arthur, however, has feelings and affections of his own, no matter how often he puts them aside. He does not realize, however, that hiding them causes others to break, just as it did Alfred. Just as it is doing now to Peter. Nothing I do can be helpful at this point; they've gone beyond the point where I can reach them."

France looks back up, and his eyes are softer then Germany has ever known; the pit of Germany's stomach slowly begins to unwind,

"I have told you all I can," he says softly, "I am sorry I was not much of a help; however, I pray you find the rest of the answer soon. Because the happiness of the Kirkland brothers depends on nothing but the kindness of others."


	8. Rejected Plans

**Rejected Kindness**

**Chapter Eight**

[A/N: I apologize on the horrid wait for this chapter, I've had a load with college work, turning eighteen, failing some classes, and, ah, all that jazz. I actually have a paper due tomorrow that I'm only about halfway done with, it's ten thirty, and I thought, 'ah, screw it, I'll do it tomorrow'. And thus, I decide to start working on this after a long wait!

By the way, I also tend to add a lot of history to my fanfictions in the Hetalia universe, especially ones involving Sealand because the bugger has a lot of fascinating history that nobody knows about If you would like, you can research it to your heart's content! I'm actually winding down to the entire reason I started this fanfic, and I hope you stick around for the rest of the ride!]

_Rejected Plans._

As he steps out of Francis' hotel room, Germany intends to go back to his own room, take a shower and turn in. However, as he walks the streets of London in the late night air, he can't help but be distracted by his own thoughts.

Mulling over what the ever-wise Francis had told him, the blond can't make sense of any of it. Why Peter was so hateful, why Arthur refused to face his own problems...it gave him a throbbing headache - almost as bad as the migraines that Feliciano would constantly give him.

Germany turns on a corner of the street, and it was then that he realizes that he had passed his hotel quite some time ago. He's standing in front of a bar, one that's open on late-nights and tends to draw in a gentlemanly crowd, as England had boasted quite a few times. Furrowing his brow, Germany adjusts the coat on his person as he walks in.

A few drinks sound good right about now.

He's surprised to find, however, that among the people at the barstool, sitting there without a care in the world, are the Netherlands and, of all people, Austria. Ludwig swallows as the two cast a glance his way. The Austrian smiles and beckons him to come closer. Germany obliges, sitting on an empty stool to the left of the Netherlands. He bows his head and nods. "Lars. Roderich."

"It's fine to see you here as well, young master," Austria greets with a cool smile on his face, a glass of wine held to his lips. The Dutchman rolls his eyes slightly as he takes another swig of his drink. Austria continues, "Might I ask what you're doing, wandering around the streets at this time of night? It's very out of character for you...and yet, recently you have been quite out of character. Since you met Arthur's boy, some few days ago. Don't you agree, Lars?"

The Netherlands nodded in agreement, downing his jug of beer before grunting in agreement. He motions for another without a word, his eyes narrowed.

The elder brunette rolls his eyes slightly and turns his attention back to Germany. "So, Young Master Ludwig, do tell me what you're fussing all about. I haven't seen you in such a state since...oh, well, for a very long time. It's quite interesting."

Germany takes a deep breath before waving away the bartender. He's not in the mood for drinks, not now. There would be time for that later.

"It started on a rainy day, a week or so ago. I...I found him, just sitting outside with the most intense of faces…"

Once the story is finished, Austria takes another sip of his wine. "I see, I see." he mumbles softly. "So that's why you've been in such panic. I can understand. Poor boy. All he ever wanted was Arthur's affection...what a tragedy. I might have to play something for him, to soothe his aching soul."

"I don't...think that this is the right time for something like that, Roderich," Germany swallows, shaking his head. "I mean, I understand that you vent your frustrations out with music, but Peter is - "

"'He's a kid. He isn't going to be interested in music, Roderich."

Both Austria and Germany look up at the Netherlands, who is scowling. That was the first sentence he had uttered since Germany arrived. The Dutchman's green eyes were piercing, studying hard in concentration. A gloved hand reaches into his pocket for a cigarette, and he sticks it in his mouth without any bravado.

"Y'know," he continues as he fumbles for a Zippo lighter, "I've seen the kid, all around. He's good, a good kid, don't ask for nothing from people who don't matter to 'Im...just wants his ass of a brother, y'know?" the dutchman scoffs, taking in a deep drag of smoke and letting it out through his mouth. "And in my opinion, Arthur's deserves a bucket full of dicks for mistreating him like that. Doesn't matter what relations are, an older brother is an older brother. They're meant for protecting th' little ones that come after, no matter what kinda relationship their countries have."

He stands up and tosses a few Euros on the table, then jerks his head to the door. "C'mon. Let's go, you two. It's late. I'll take you to the place I'm staying at, we can talk about this there."

Roderich stands, dusting his hands before putting his white gloves back on. "I agree. Shall we, Ludwig?"

Stupefied, Germany nods and stands, following the two older nations out the door and feeling the cold rush of air hit him as they made it out into the streets. The Netherlands adjusts the scarf around his neck - obviously made by his little sister, Belgium - and Roderich adjusts his glasses on his face, humming a bit of Chopin under his breath as the three walk along.

By the time they reach the Dutchman's hotel room, it's already well past midnight. Germany groans slightly as the Netherlands gets out his keycard - because he knows that he's going to be exhausted tomorrow, and will be rendered useless at the meetings once again - and the older male, thinking that he's whining, shoots a warning glare at him. "Oi, if you wanna complain about where I get my hotel room, do it somewhere that I can't hear you bitch about it. Better yet, take us to your classy hotel, why don'cha," he drawls, rolling his eyes slightly. "It's nice and cozy here. Nobody to bother you or ask questions, either."

As he opens the door, Germany is quite charmed by how simplistic it is. One bed, a desk, a miniature television, a few chairs and a dresser, with an attached bathroom to the left. The German instinctively takes off his shoes and settles them nearly on the floor, and Roderich follows suit. It's only the Netherlands who kicks off his and flops down on the bed, stretching out his legs as the other two settle on the empty chairs. The Dutchman adjusts the scarf on his neck again - though makes no move to remove it - and looks at the others.

"Well? So what do you suppose we do then, huh?" he asks, looking at the other two with expectancy. Green eyes narrow as he sticks another cigarette in his mouth. "We've got to do _some_thing, don't you agree, Roderich?"

"Oh yes, quite," the Austrian agrees. "But I'm not sure on how to go about with this. I mean, the only one of us that has had any interaction with the child is Ludwig, and I'm not too sure about how we go about trying to fix a problem that we have nothing to do with...though, I'm sure if we asked Gilbert, he would love to help. Too bad he's with Russia right now…"

"We could always bust him out, y'know, make a deal with Russia to let us 'ave him for a few days."

"You're daft. A deal, with Ivan, of all people? Alfred would no doubt be on our tails about it, you know they're in the middle of a cold war right now. I've declared neutrality in that, and I refuse to budge on the matter."

Germany rubs at his aching temples for a few moments, praying to God that they would stop fighting, before sighing and looking up at the others. "Listen," he says in a stern tone. "I don't think we should do anything. After all, this is between Arthur and Peter. We have no right to interfere, as much as we want to. We must simply just move on. It's hard, but I've been thinking about it, and I believe that is the right choice. Listen to common sense and you'll agree."

The Dutchman on the bed rolls his mossy-colored eyes and takes another drag of the cigarette in his mouth. "Yeah, do that Ludwig. Because I'm so sure that this problem will fix itself." he muttered, glaring at a spot on the wall opposite of the German. "You know, it would be a lot easier if one of us could take him over, just fly in with soldiers and force a revolution. I'm sure it'd be easy as hell, but Arthur would be on our asses about it…"

"You're far too rash, young master Lars."

"Shut up with that 'young master' crap, Roderich, I swear…"

"As far as I am concerned, Lars, you are still a young mater."

Germany bites down on his lip and scowls. "Would you people listen to me?" he asks in an icy tone, bringing the others to look up at him and quell their fighting for a few moments. "You are _missing__the__point_ here. Peter and Arthur are none of our business. If this was a hundred or so years ago, then yes, I would be all for it, but the point is that international relations are critical right now. If we did anything, and I mean _any_thing, to upset Arthur, it could mean the end of our trade agreements, and I'm sure you wouldn't want that, would you?"

The older two men look away in discomfort, and that's when Germany knows that they understand the painful truth. Leaning back, he presses a hand against his temples again.

"...I know that I'm a hypocrite. I want to help him as much as you both do, but I'm sorry," he says, standing up and looking down at Netherlands. "...thank you, Lars, for your concern, as well as the cigarette you provided for me earlier today. I will repay you in kind one day."

With that, the German stands up and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He's made his point.

The Netherlands scoffs again, holding out a cigarette to Austria. "Well, that was a load of bullshit," he mutters as the older brunette sticks the cigarette in his mouth and leans down for the dutchman to light it up. "Now, let's say we get onto the real matter at hand. How are we gonna fix this?"

[**To****be****continued**.

A/N: How is it that I can write chapters among chapters of fanfiction but I can't even write a measly 1,000 words about Amy Tan for my English class /sob. I hope you come back for the next installment real soon.]


	9. A Helping Hand

Rejected Kindness

**A Helping Hand**

[ A/N: thank you very much for the kind words, everyone! I'm surprised that I have people who are waiting for this, a ha...oh man, whenever I get reviews for a story, I always get butterflies in my stomach. I love it.

Well, here's the best I can do! I'm (mostly) done with college work, (except for that paper, ha ha…) which means I have time to actually work on fanfictions, ha ha. This chapter is a little different from the others, hence the difference in title from the others...I also probably have to up the rating on this fic for the potty mouths found here. Read on to find out. ]

* * *

><p>Gilbert hates the hotel, even though the joint rooms that he shares with Ivan, Feliks and the three Baltic States were probably larger then most apartments in East Germany. He hates traveling with Ivan, mostly, because the Russian refuses to leave Gilbert when he goes traveling to meetings - though Gilbert is not allowed in on the meetings, the former empire is not allowed to stay on his own. Ivan refuses to allow it - Gilbert causes far too much trouble when he isn't handled.<p>

The former Prussian Empire - though Ivan has insisted on calling him 'East' now, even though he _knows_ that Gilbert despises the new title - would like nothing more then to escape. He wants to go to the World Meetings and stand on his own. He wants to declare that he doesn't need Ivan, even he knows that's a lie and it's because of Ivan that he's still even alive.

He wants to see his brother, but Ivan would never allow it. So he tries not to even think about Ludwig anymore.

Gilbert yawns and stretches as he curls his back in the hotel room, the early morning light streaming through the curtains. His fingers brush against the iron bed stand, and the cool metal seems to wake him up a bit more. The albino then sits up, shuffling the covers so that he can stand up with the covers draping over his shoulders. It's already August, he notes grimly, and the air conditioner is on full blast. Ivan prefers it that way, the cold air hitting everyone in the hotel room in the face. '_Just__like__Russia_,' he would note gleefully. '_Our__home__away__from__home_!'

Toris, Raivas and Eduard have to deal with it too, the poor suckers, but at least they were allowed to leave for the meetings.

The Prussian rubs the back of his neck, which is stiff from the way he slept the previous night. Growling out another yawn, he walks from the room he was sharing with Lithuania and Latvia - who had both left earlier that morning - and strolls into the tiny excuse for a miniature kitchen, barely able to squeeze between the stove and the cabinets as he rummages through the shelves. Ivan always insists on leaving lots of food, just in case someone got hungry, and it was this kind of odd gesture that made living with the super-power a little more bearable.

Grabbing a box of dry cereal, Prussia makes quick business of opening it with a single finger. Grabbing a handful and shoveling it in his mouth, he turns back and flops on Ivan's bed, which was attached to the kitchen, and grabs the remote to the miniature black-and-white television in the room. Flicking it on, Gilbert leans back for another mundane day.

Another boring, stupid day of lazing about. Nothing to do until the others came home, and even then it was pretty damn boring. Gilbert wasn't allowed to really bother the Baltic States anymore. (Ivan's entire stock of alcohol had disappeared one night after Gilbert teased Latvia one too many times, and the Russian would not allow anyone to cause such a disturbance again.)

Flipping through the channels brought no relief. The only things that were on in the morning were crap. Sighing, Gilbert rolls over so he's laying on his stomach. Pulling the covers over his head, he's pretty damn content to just sulk there.

It was just as he was falling asleep that he feels a violent kick to the small of his back, along with a disgusted grunt that could only be described as high-handed. The albino jerks up, the covers falling to the floor, and as his eyes fall upon his guests, he suddenly feels dust beginning to form in his eyes. Wiping then with his palm, Gilbert coughs awkwardly as he straightens up.

"What do I owe this pleasant visit to, ah? Asshole...shit, did you clean your fucking boots? I've got mud and...tons of gunk in my eyes, they're making 'em water over!"

"Oi. I kicked your back, not your face, asshole," the Netherlands replies, grinning wryly as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. Austria, who is beside the brunette, smirks as he looks down at the albino, arms crossed. The Dutchman offers a joint to Gilbert, who takes it with more gratefulness then he would ever admit to having. "And anyway, y'jerk, what the hell were you doing? I've never seen the great empire of Prussia sulk like a fucking teenage girl. Pansy-ass."

"Hey, I could say the same about you, you sister-doting mother fucki-"

"If I may be so rude as to interrupt your childish argument," Austria interrupts, uncrossing his arms and leaning against the wall. "Gilbert, you look better then I expected. With the treatment of East Germany, I expected worse, in all honesty."

"Oi. What did you say, you stupid aristocrat?" Gilbert snaps, biting down on the cigarette that he had just put into his mouth. He sulks in silent for a minute before letting Netherlands light it up with his Zippo lighter, and after taking a puff, he speaks again. "...Ivan takes care of me. It's weird, y'know, seeing him try to act like an over-doting fucking mother. He won't have us hungry or anything. Seems he really wants us to like 'im...though he does have episodes where everyone nearly pisses their pants, they're so fucking scared. Especially after he talks with Alfred...I, ah, I'm doing fine, though. I'm too awesome to let Ivan control me...East Germany he can have. Me, he can't."

Roderich reaches over to stroke the albino's cheek, and for a gentle moment Gilbert allows him. Concern etches the Austrian's face, and had Gilbert been in a better mood, he would have teased the other for it.

But he's tired. Just...so tired. He can't gather the energy to even tease the other like he used to. And just having them come to see him...it's overwhelming. He hasn't seen them in decades. Gilbert closes his eyes and the tears slip from his eyes. It feels so nice, to be someone who he has known for a long time.

The tender moment only lasts for a moment. Roderich pulls away and Gilbert opens his eyes. The Netherlands is kneeling there, still silent, still waiting for Gilbert to stop crying. The albino shakes his head and rubs at his eyes again. "I-I...fuck, you guys...how is everyone? I haven't seen them in so long, shit...how's Ludwig? I-I mean, West...how is he? He's not losing any weight, right? Shit…"

Austria shushes him gently, brushing silver hair though his fingers as Gilbert leans into him for comfort. The brunette takes a glance at Netherlands, and the two exiting a quick, silent, solemn vow to never tell anyone of Gilbert's breakdown. Roderich brushes his lips against Gilbert's ear, then begins to speak softly. "Ludwig is fine. He misses you, yes, but he's hanging in there...actually, he's the reason that we're here. You see, Ludwig has shown us that there is still hope for us older ones in helping the new, young children of this world, this odd twentieth century world...we have a job for you to do, if you will have it."

Gilbert raises his head, wiping the tear tracks with the back of his palm. For a moment, he smiles, and it's the old Kingdom of Prussia looking at the two older nations, a kingdom with a glint in his eyes and both a head a heart full of fire.

"A job? Yer coming to see me for somethin' like this? Man, Roddy, you guys can barely survive three decades without coming to the Awesome Prussia, ah? Shit, you know I can't resist."

The Netherlands produces a wry grin. "That's what we were hoping for, man. Welcome back. Now, about what we're gonna be doing..."

* * *

><p>"And so, to wrap up this meeting, tomorrow we will be discussing the new issues arriving with trade routes and agreements between nations, particularly those dealing with current economic distress. Any questions?"<p>

Ludwig tries to focus on Arthur's voice, but something else was troubling him. Mixed with his lack of sleep, and Francis' gaze that seemed to follow him around the room, the German could hardly focus.

Neither Austria nor the Netherlands had attended this meeting. It troubles Germany, especially the way they had acted the night before.

Sighing as Arthur calls the meeting to an end, Germany stands up and rubs the back of his neck. He smiles slightly as Veneziano waves at him from the other side of the room, but as he steps forward to go and talk to him, something yanks him back. Ludwig turns his head to find a scowling, brow-furrowed England glaring back at him. Without a word, Arthur half-drags the stunned blond into a separate hallway, where they are completely alone.

The German splutters for a moment before yanking out of Arthur's grip, staring at him with wide blue eyes. Arthur's own moss-colored ones glare right back. It takes Ludwig a moment to speak. His voice is cold, and he narrows his eyes at the other. "What, pray tell, do you want?" he asks, stiffening up. "What do you possibly want to deal with me for?"

Arthur's eyes flit for a moment, and he coughs into his sleeve before he replies. "Look, ah." he mutters, rolling his shoulders back as he avoids the larger blond's eyes. "About...about Peter. Just...leave him be, will you? Really. I can't...I can't stand to have him blabbering on about this nation nonsense. There's no use in getting his hopes up, I hope you realize. Talking to others will just give him some false sense of security."

"I don't see any reason to listen to you."

"Just shut up for one goddamn minute!" Arthur hisses back, reaching out to grip Ludwig's sleeve. "I'm looking out for his own goddamn good! Just let him be, let him live out on the sea, and stop bothering him! He's never going to be acknowledged by anyone, least of all _you_!"

Germany grits his teeth and clenches his fist before returning in his own icy tone. "Look, Arthur," he began quietly, his brows knitted together. "I will not leave him alone. He's hardly a child. I can't allow it...I can't allow Sealand to-"

"_Peter_! His name is _Peter_! Don't call him by a name like that!"

"..._Peter_," Ludwig corrected himself in a tight voice, "I can't allow Peter to be left alone like that. It might not seem much to someone like _you_, who willingly will abandon whatever doesn't work out for him, but I can't accept that. A child, left completely alone and without love, is one of the worst sins that a nation can commit."

That obviously hit home. Arthur stumbles back, reaching back to balance himself on the wall. His eyes are wide, and his hand is shaking ever so slightly.

With that, Germany backs away, leaving the stunned England to himself. Dissatisfied, he steps back and, without another word, leaves the Briton to his thoughts. There is nothing he can do for Arthur now.

* * *

><p>"So that's all we're doing?" Gilbert questions, pointing to the large piece of paper that the Netherlands had laid out. "We're just gonna go in, take over, and keep the kid for our own? Man, Roddy, this is kinda like what we did back in the old days! Shit, you don't have an original bone in your body, do ya?"<p>

"That better not be a complaint,"

"Aw, hell no, it ain't a complain. Hell, I'm kinda excited!"

The aristocrat sighs as he pulls one of his gloves off his hands and pointing to a different place. "This tactic has worked before. After all, Peter is only a child, and if what Ludwig told us is correct, he will be easily pleased with my invitation for his boss to discuss matters of the utmost importance...in reality, a distraction."

"That's when we step in," Lars interrupts, munching on a fresh cigarette with a bit of glee. "Y'know, the 'take-over-while-they-no-one's-looking' technique. I saw Antonio use this kinda thing, way back when he was an empire. Never failed then, probably shouldn't fail now."

"Man! Shit, my blood's boiling, I'm so excited!" Gilbert grins, slamming his hand down on the table. "Let's get going! I wanna see this kid, Arthur's brat! An' then maybe I'll be able to beat some sense into him!"

"No beating, Gilbert. Child abuse is frowned upon."

"Shut up, Roddy, I didn't mean I'd beat the kid. I'm just itching to beat some sense into Arthur, when he comes to rescue his brother from his kidnappers. It's been a while since I played the bad guy, I'm getting excited to see what'll happen! Shit, man, why didn't we do this before?"

The Netherlands rolls his eyes, but can't help the smile gracing his features. "Yeah, man, c'mon, let's get going. We're putting this in action tomorrow, and you gotta be ready. Ivan know's I'm borrowing ya, so c'mon, get your skinny ass moving. Let's go rescue the kid."

**-to be continued**


	10. Rejected Heart

**Rejected Kindness**

'_Rejected Heart'_

[ A/N: That awkward moment where you realize that you've been working on this fic, on and off, since about August...and only have ten chapters done. Orz. I need to get my butt in gear.

Once I start updating this fic, it seems that I can't stop. Once again, thank you to the kind reviewers who give me such strength. (one of you got so excited that you reviewed eight out of the ten chapters I wrote, ha ha, thank you!) Whenever I'm at a writer's block or I just can't gather up the motivation to do more work, I open up the pages of reviews I've gotten and those give me the strength to start typing. Thanks, you guys, and here's another wonderful chapter. ]

/

Gilbert remembers Peter, the Peter from a long time ago. He remembers the little abandoned war fort who was meek and sickly.

He remembers because he is part of Germany.

_He remembers the small boy, curled up in Francis' arms, unable to even stand on his own...the Frenchman, holding him as if he was the only thing keeping the child from breaking completely...Bates, the man who would become Prince of Sealand, and his family, designing the former war fort's constitution…to turn it into a Principality, a micro nation that would strive for affection and acknowledgment from the one person that it could be never attained from._

It wasn't that important to Gilbert at first, in all honesty. He only traveled to the rusted iron war fort so he could be away from Ivan, just for a while.

_A German had helped them design the things that were to become the basis Principality of Sealand's constitution. A German had inadvertently saved him. And Gilbert, as much as he denied it, was East Germany, so he remembered. _

Gilbert remembers. He remembers how Peter was, when he was sick and dying. He remembers everything about the boy, because it's not often that one can see a child personification, even one that should not exist.

_He remembers the boy, who flinched when Gilbert tried to ease his fears, the one who would cling to a tattered stuffed rabbit as fear-lidded eyes regarded the former empire with distrust. The child who wouldn't speak, who was too weak and tired to speak, and who looked just about ready to die._

Ludwig might not remember, but Gilbert did. Gilbert didn't have many diverse memories, being stuck with Russia and the Baltic nations, being shuffled in and out of hotel rooms every day, staring at different white ceilings as the hours ticked by.

_He had been there, he had seen what lonely memories Arthur had left there. The boy crying, pleading for the older Kirkland, was enough to bring tears into even the hardest of soldiers. The child who clung to a soothing Francis, who cried and begged for his brother, his big brother, to come back and take him, Arthur had to come back, because he promised to love him forever. _

_The one who asked for his brother, every night as Francis so lovingly tucked him into his cot with a warm quilt imported from the finest of fabrics, because Francis insisted that Peter deserved the best, if this Constitution fell through and Peter left this world for the next._

Gilbert remembers Peter clearly. He remembers the child whose eyes slowly lit up as the life filled back into him. Even if he only saw the boy for a few measly days, the impression that he made on the albino lasted nearly a decade.

He remembers more then he ever wanted to, because it's painful to recall the tear stained, flinching eyes of a child that trusted no one, a child who _couldn't_ trust. A weak, sick and dying boy whose life depended on a lousy piece of paper declaring him a separate entity from England, it's own sovereign principality.

It hurt to remember, because it reminded Gilbert so much of the pain he went through before he became East Germany. The pain after being dissolved, and yet it was much more intensified in the child curled up in Francis' arms, begging for that warmth and affection. Peter, who had been suffering for eleven long, hard, isolated years, held on for much longer, clung to live with more force and more desperation then any nation that the Empire of Prussia had ever come across.

And it _hurt_, to see that in a boy, only a handful of years old. A boy who should not be forced into dealing with horrors and pain, of abandonment and the aching emptiness that replaced the _love_ that should be there.

Opening his crimson-tinted eyes, Gilbert pushed the memories away. He has no time for reminiscing. He as a job to do, to once again try to save an innocent blond child from perpetual loneliness.

/

As part of the plan, earlier that day, Roy Bates had been called to Austria for business meetings and negotiations. This was merely a facade, obviously, a trick to get the Prince off the island in order to overtake the metal war fort more easily.

Of course, there were others. Other men, who had been coaxed into overthrowing this 'pseudo-country' for different reasons. Gilbert and Lars had their own agenda, however, and didn't care much for the businessmen that had been railed. They had their own goal, their own accomplishments to fulfill.

They are to kidnap Peter. That was the plan. The invasion force - or as Lars had put it, the '_take-over-while-they-aren't-looking_' plan, was merely a facade to their real goals. Peter, the pseudo-nation-tan, the child whom for so long had been without love, was their target. They were to kidnap and then, if necessary, taunt and goad Arthur into making a move - whenever that move be an action of kindness and love or contempt and apathy remained to be seen.

The Netherlands lights up a pre-celebratory cigarette. He offers one to Gilbert, but the albino declines, for now. The spiked-haired brunette merely shrugged it off and flicked open his lighter. "Nervous?" he asked gruffly, casting a glance at the other.

Gilbert shakes his head and narrows his eyes as the leader of this little expedition-a man who claimed to own 'Sealand' and demanded it for his own-then mutters under his breath, so only Lars can hear. "I just...I'm remembering. Th' kid. I was pretty surprised, when you and Roddy told me that we were going to rescue him. Peter, I just...I 'member him. I remember what Arthur did to him...makes me feel like a shit brother, that's f'r sure."

Lars merely murmurs in reply. "Yeah, I know. I've seen how Arthur treats him...no brother should be that way. No kid should have to deal with his life alone, without someone t'guide him...we had t'go through that, when we were brats. I can't believe Arthur would ever do such a thing, forcing his kin to go it out alone. And it's worse, because at least we had each other, all growin' up at the same time...we were a family. Dysfunctional, yeah, but a family.

It's despicable to see a kid go it out alone."

The two jerk up as the group begins to move. The Netherlands is the first to stand, lumbering up as his eyes narrow. "Let's get moving," he says darkly, spitting out his cigarette and stomping down on it with his thick, black boot.

"Let's go. We got a kid to save."

/

Sealand had a habit of sleeping on a huge pile of sheets and blankets, left there from the days that he was a war fort.

Only his head is visible in his pile of blankets and sheets - he always stacks them as high as they can go, and piles them up on the floor to his room. Every single time, without fail, after he comes back to the iron structure on yet another failed attempt at attending the United Nations conferences, he dumps all the spare blankets and sheets and sulks there for an entire day, sometimes more, depending on how upset he feels.

The Bates call it comfort therapy. Peter calls it sulking. He would sulk and huddle under the blankets for the entire day, his citizens, the Bates, would leave him be, and the guards would call him only for supper.

Next time, he always promises himself, there's always next time. Next time, Arthur will recognize me as a nation.

He never believes it, but he can always promise it to himself. It's not like promises are meant to be kept, anyway.

Everything was empty.

It was always empty.

It's because of that constant emptiness, this aching in his chest, that Peter Kirkland can feel something happening on the surface. The familiar sound and feeling of hard, heavy boots start rumbling above, climbing the ladders and shouting, yelling and shouting. Peter recognizes the feeling from his days when soldiers were they, when they would laugh and talk and gamble.

For a moment, Peter thinks he's dreaming, blissfully dreaming of days when he wasn't so lonely, but then the rumbling grows louder, and the child realizes that the shouts are not happy, but rageful and angry. Sealand's breath hitches slightly, and he immediately knows that this is reality, and worse yet - this is a dangerous reality. Something's wrong.

At first, Sealand thinks he should run up the long stairway to the surface, grab whatever gun he can find, and attack whatever-or whoever-is trying to overrun his territory. The boy might feel downtrodden, but that was no excuse to skirmish on his duties as a full-blown nation.

That was before he hears the gunshots.

As soon as he hears the gunshots, Peter knows that this means trouble.

Looking around, Sealand knows he has to make a quick decision - one that could very well mean his life. After a quick moment, he dives under the covers and curls into a ball, making himself as small as possible. Praying that no one will look for him here, Sealand shuts his eyes tightly as his heart pounds in his chest, his little fingers shaking.

He knows gunshots. He hates gunshots. The only things in the world that frighten him into this state are gunshots and thunderstorms.

Without warning, the door to his room is busted open. Peter squeezes his chest as he begins to cry, the tears slipping from his eyes onto the sheets and pillows. With a fearful, tiny whimper, the child curls into himself.

_This is the end_, he thought with a silent sob. _This is the end, I'm going to die_.

Without warning, the blankets above him are ripped away, and Sealand is hoisted up. With a cry, the boy instinctively begins to squirm and struggle, to try and get away from his captor. He catches a glimpse of silver and red before something hard and wooden is slammed into the back of his head, and everything becomes fuzzy. Some yelling goes on, and Peter can feel himself being shifted from one pair of arms into another, before everything turns a pitch, empty black.

**-TBC**

[ A/N: Whew, I'm going to be sore in the morning...I'm exhausted, ubuu. I hope you all enjoyed, at the very least!

On a separate note, fun facts you learn while researching - a German really _did_ help develop plans for Sealand. In fact, there's a faction in Germany that claims to be the 'true' government of Sealand, but that comes along later in history. If only researching for essays could be this fun! ]


	11. Rejected Love

Rejected Kindness

'_Rejected By One_'

Germany is shuffling papers as the break for the meeting begins. He hasn't seen Sealand at all in the past few days, but the child weighs constantly on his mind - especially since the run in with England the day before. The way Arthur spat, glared and seethed distrust and hate - and then, when Ludwig spat back at him, the look of hurt. Of regret.

He wonders why he got involved in this family drama. He wonders why, but he knows that no answer will come to him.

It was because of the boy in the blue sailor uniform with a matching cap, being drenched in the rain while looking up at the sky with hate in his eyes. It's only now, Germany realizes, that it wasn't hate in the child's eyes.

It was longing. The longing of a little brother, rejecting kindness because he doesn't know how to accept it.

"Mister Ludwig?"

The sullen blond is broken from his thoughts by the calling of a female voice. He looks up to find a secretary staring up at him with wide eyes - the same secretary that had been there the day Peter ran away in the rain. He rubs the back of his neck and stretches a few of his limbs that hadn't moved at all since the morning hours. He nods his head as their eyes meet again. "Yes?"

"There's a phone call from you, coming from Berlin - something about your older brother causing some kind of...disturbance? They said to come to the phone immediately."

Germany's eyes flicker over, but the emotion is stamped on almost immediately. There would be time for that later. Despite trying to control himself, the German stumbles up, slamming his hands on the table. The secretary flinches back slightly, but Ludwig pays her no mind. He gapes for a moment, staring past the woman and towards the hallway, where other nations mindlessly chattered without rhyme or reason. He swallowed painfully.

"B-_bruder_?"

"Yes sir, that's what he said."

Without another word, Germany pushes up from his seat at the table and bursts past the woman, eyes wider then they had been in years.

His brother. Ludwig had not heard anything from his brother in decades, not since the Russians had tightened control over the Berlin Wall. Honestly, Ludwig didn't care about what kind of trouble his brother caused - just the fact that he was causing trouble meant that he was _alive_.

That simple fact was more then enough to forgive whatever trouble his brother caused.

He slams on the door to where the phone was. The secretaries there jump slightly, but he pushes past them and grabs the phone, bringing it to his ear with more force then intended.

"_Ja_?"

/

The news of Sealand being overridden and taken hostage spreads rapidly through the United Nations meeting. It seems that Peter Kirkland wasn't just the interest of Germany - he was surprised to find that the small pseudo-nation had touched more then a few of the nations there.

Of course, he it dawned on him grimly. Of course a child like that would do anything to beg for attention, would never stay content with being isolated for long. And he looked just like Arthur, there was no way that no one would notice. Germany was just the last in a line of many nations to try and fix problems that were far too large and heavy for one to carry alone.

The first people who come up to him at the end of the meeting are the Italy brothers. Feliciano, his comrade from years and years of turmoil and strife, tugs on his sleeve hesitantly, like a little boy about to be scolded by his mother. Standing behind him is South Italy. Romano throws no insults, instead taking the option at glaring at one corner of the table as Feliciano looks up at him with awe.

Ludwig can instantly feel that this is not a normal meeting. It takes a moment for anyone to speak. Finally, North Italy swallows and whimpers out a single sentence.

"Y-you kidnapped _Pietro_? Little Peter...?"

The German immediately turns his head down, looking at the papers he had brought to the meeting. He had not used any of them, not since he received the phone call that his brother had ransacked Sealand and kidnapped a blond child with a few German and Dutch businessmen. It takes him a long moment to shake his head.

"N-no, I didn't. _Bruder_ was the one who…"

This causes the older of the Italians to snap his head up. "Gilbert did this?" he asked tightly, a thin line of hate building on his forehead. "That fucking - does he know what the fuck he's doing?"

"I - I - " Germany stutters, for once at a complete loss for words. He can't say anything, because he doesn't know anything. He doesn't know how his brother knew about Peter in the first place, or why he would do something like kidnapping, much less kidnapping a boy nation, when he was already in such bad shape.

He tries to speak for a few more minutes, before he realizes that there are a few other nations in what he thought was an empty room - France, Canada and America, along with China and even Russia, who are all looking at the German with knowing eyes. Germany's voice constricts in his throat, but he breathes in and out again so he can speak quietly.

"I don't know why. I just...I know he's not...I don't know why my bruder would go and do something like this, I just..."

"_Va a cagare_!" Romano spits, glaring at the other. "Fucking _hell_, Ludwig! Your brother had to go and fuck up, didn't he? What the hell, and Lars too! I always fucking knew they were no good, going and kidnapping a defenseless kid! Do you know how fucking hard it was, to watch him go through years and years of that? And you're fucking _blind_ for not noticing the kid before now! We all fucking knew!"

South Italy takes a deep breath, ready to give another thrashing to Germany, but is interrupted by a calmer, more serene voice.

"I don't think Ludwig had anything to do with this, comrade," Russia says softly, raising a gloved hand to wave away the atmosphere. "And it's understandable, yes? Germany comes to meetings early and leaves late, and his mind is always on the meetings and never on his surroundings."

"For once," America interjects, "I agree with the commie here. This was a long time coming, Germany just got sucked into this mess without knowing."

Canada nods slightly. Germany suddenly realizes that the northern nation had been there the entire time, but before he can speak, France cuts into the conversation, laying a soft hand on America so he may speak.

"Ludwig, you may not know this about your brother, but Gilbert knew Peter. Before, far before this. He knew, and he told me once that he wanted to free the boy from this life...and yet, I knew he could do nothing. He knew that as well, but it was only a matter of time before he started to yank at his chain…yet I said nothing. I am partially to blame for things turning out like this."

"I agree," Russia nods. "When Netherlands came up, and asked to borrow East for a little while, I did not ask where they would be going or what they would do. I assumed this was for East's relations with the Netherlands. I am also to blame here, comrade. And, don't you think," he adds. "That you are to blame, just a little bit, Lovino? And Feliciano as well, yes? You two saw Peter, and saw him doing dangerous things that could hurt him, yet neither of you said a word. That is also to blame, yes?"

Romano grits his teeth and shakes his head. Clenching his fists, he lowers his eyes to the floor, and Germany could only glimpse at the tears building in his amber eyes.

"_Fuck_!" he shouts, slamming his hand into a nearby wall. "I know it's our fucking fault too! I know none of us did anything to help him, but we...we didn't fucking know things would ever turn out like this! God knows what those two morons are going to fucking do…!"

Feliciano tugs on Romano's sleeve, pulling the shaking Italian into his shoulder. Lovino grips him, shaking slightly. The others in the room remain silent, before China speaks softly.

"I, um," he begins, waving a sleeve slightly in order to speak. "I know it's rude to interrupt, even though I'm going to do it anyway, but...where is Arthur in all this? He should be here, blaming you as the rest of us were about to, but...he is nowhere to be found. Why isn't he here?"

The others raise their heads now in realization. But Arthur is nowhere to be found.

/

It is nearly dusk Germany trudges into his hotel room, grim from the day's events. Without even kicking off his shoes, he nearly collapses onto the bed, face first. He doesn't even care that the bottom of his shoes are caked with mud.

He had walked for a bit, in hopes to perhaps find Arthur, but the Brit had not appeared. He had not raged at Germany, had not pounded or yelled or even cast a glare at the other.

It disturbs the German. It disturbs him because he knows that this is so unlike Arthur. For one who raised so many children - from America to Seychelles, to dozens of other colonies that eventually broke away - to leave Peter like this, out in the open, and not even come out to accuse any of them when he was kidnapped.

Without Germany getting up, the door to his room opens. The German opens his eyes slightly to find Feliciano standing there, eyes worrying themselves. A smile can't help but crack itself in the sullen blond's face as the Italian shifts onto the bed, reaching out a hand to stroke Ludwig's broad shoulder. No words are spoken at this point, but no words are needed. Italy leans down to kiss the place where Germany's neck and shoulder join, before leaning up to kiss his cheek. Pulling back, Feliciano smiles slightly, just ever so slightly.

"It's okay. I know Gilbert, he wouldn't...hurt _Pietro_. He wouldn't, that isn't...that isn't how he would do it."

He looks up, suddenly, and Ludwig becomes acutely aware that Italy is much smarter, much stronger, then he ever gave the brunette credit for.

"I know he has a reason for it. I know he does...it might be, to finally make Arthur decide, you know? What is important to him...whenever…"

He trails off at this point, instead shifting slightly so he is hugging around Germany's arm. And, for once in his life, Ludwig is grateful for it. Italy tilts his head and gives a small chuckle.

"I'll sleep in here tonight, okay? And then, tomorrow, you can go see Arthur. Then we'll know for sure…" he yawns, cuddling there. "Oh, but I won't go. It's too scary for me, wah...way too scary, Germany is way stronger and better for the job. I don't want to, but you'll tell me, right? Right?"

Ludwig can't help the chuckle that fills his stomach. Spilling forward from his throat, the German holds his head in his hands as he laughs. He can't stop, for some reason, and soon Feliciano is laughing with him, though probably for different reasons.

The two laugh there, and for a short while, everything is forgiven and forgotten.

-**TBC**

[ A/N: /casually adds a cute little scene with Ger/Ita with no regrets at all given.

A happy new year to you all! I sincerely hope that you all had a good holiday, whatever you celebrate (though going back to school is something that we all have to go back to, no matter what...it seems so far off, but it's sneaking up on all of us, slowly but surely…) and are ready to get back into life without eggnog. (poor eggnog, I'll see you next year).

And with that, here's a new chapter. By the way, '_Va a cagare_' is the Italian equivalent of 'fuck you' - an Italian friend of mine kindly helped me out with that.

With that, here's hopes to the next chapter! Ta, for now. ]


	12. Rejected Child

Rejected Kindness

'Rejected Child'

/

When Peter comes to, he's in the dark, though it isn't dark enough that he can't see. He's in some sort of bunker, his mind tells him, not on Sealand. He doesn't feel empty inside, not at all, but that gives him no comfort when he realizes that he's not alone. His bones freeze and tense up, while a lump the size of a golf ball form in his throat, barely giving him room to breathe.

There are two men in the room - except they're not men, they're nations, even Peter can tell that. One is a brunette, with an unlit cigarette in his mouth, while the other has striking silver hair. They're both talking quietly on the other side of the room, casting the occasional glance at the now-awake micro-nation.

Sealand tenses up again, trying hard to pretend that he's still unconscious, but one of them - the brunette, with hair that defied gravity and a striped scarf draped across his person - notices that he's awake. Lumbering forward, he reaches out and gently brushes Peter's fringe away, revealing wide, scattered and frightened blue eyes. "Hey," he says softly, eyes locked firmly on the other. "Kid. How'ya doing? Does your head still hurt?"

Peter's shoulders keep firm, and he shakes away from the man and forces himself to sit up, despite the aching pain that spikes up in the back of his head. Clutching it, he pushes himself back into the wall, a quilt that had been over him falling off the cot and to the floor.

"W...what are you doing? Who are you, kidnapping me?" he accuses, glaring at the man, though he knows in the pit of his stomach that it's useless to try and give this man the evil eye.

It the child's horror, the man begins to laugh at him. Reaching out, he tweaks at Peter's nose and grins wryly. "Hey, hey, kid, calm down, will you? Nobody likes a stick in the mud, you shoulda known that from dealing with Arthur so much," he retorts, gesturing for the other man - who had silver, gleaming hair and blood-red eyes - to come forward. The man begrudgingly stands up and walks over to the two, then plops down on the floor next to the brunette. The taller man waves his hand slightly over Peter's fringe again, though Sealand jerks back at the touch. "You shouldn't talk like that to the people that are trying to rescue you."

"R - rescue?" Sealand shouts, mouth agape. "Y - you bloody whacked me with something and knocked me right out, you twat!"

"That was all this guy," the man jerks a thumb at the albino, who merely shrugs and stands from where he's sitting in order to get closer to the other two. The taller man flashes another grin at Peter as he takes the still unlit cigarette out of his mouth. "My name is Lars, by the way. I represent Netherlands, or Holland, or whatever the fuck y'want to call it. The guy here is the former Empire of Prussia, though now he's East Germany, as much as he hates it," he adds, letting his hand fall to his knee. Gilbert makes a dissatisfied noise, eyebrows narrowing as he crossed his arms. Lars rolls his eyes and continues.

"Now, kid, we didn't mean to rub y'the wrong way. We're the good guys here. But we can't help you if you don't let us. Understand, kid?"

Peter bites down on his bottom lip, chewing it in thought as he weighs his options. These people could easily be lying through their teeth, and had actually brought him here to do nasty and terrible things, things that the boy couldn't even imagine.

On the other hand, the way this Lars person looked at him, it was like...like a brother, or an uncle, or...family. And Peter is suddenly overcome with emotion, with the neediness and begging that he had been hiding in the center of his chest, trying to replace the empty.

And he knows, instinctively, that Lars is not a bad person. He knows, because this person understands what a brother looks like.

Reaching out, almost impulsively, Peter grabs onto Lars scarf and yanks him forward, though it's not so much by his own power as by the man willingly obliging the boy by leaning forward. Without warning, Lars' arms wrap loosely around him, and everything is suddenly soft, and warm, and _safe_. The boy buries his head into the Dutchman's chest, and the older man's large, safe hands rub soothing circles into Peter's back, whispering promises that things will be alright, that things are going to be okay.

And Peter, for once in his life, believes in the promises.

/

The meetings for the United Nations have finally ended for the day. Normally, this is accommodated by loud shouts of happiness, along with offers to go drinking as the personifications filter out of the building and into the streets. For some reason, however, most of the nations are lingering inside and around the building, as if waiting for something. The tense atmosphere that had been building up for over a week now, ever since the meetings had begun, was going to snap, and soon.

Germany, of course, is the most tense. Packing up his folders and binders, he gives a short nod to North Italy, who gives a warm smile in return. Nodding again, the blond shuffles off at a quick pace, keeping his eyes locked on a small, blond Brit that seems to be squirming as much as possible, as if trying to get lost or hide. The Englishman continues to dodge in and out of rooms and crowds like a frightened rabbit, as if hoping to remain discreet and get away as soon as he can.

Despite how good the Brit's espionage techniques are, however, Germany keeps a trained eye on the other, now walking at a brisk pace. It doesn't take long for the two to wind up alone at a dead-end hallway. Arthur's back is turned, with arms crossed and leaning against a wall to look out a window, as if contemplating the three-story jump to the ground.

The German takes a warning step forward, and though England is not looking towards him, the Briton visibly flinches. Germany pauses, before taking another step. Before he can begin speaking, however, Arthur's voice jumps and beats Ludwig to the punch.

"He's always coming to London. Even when there aren't meetings, he always winds up here for one reason or another," the small blond begins carefully, though his words are sharp and tight. "And he always insists on coming to see me, on demanding rights to be his own nation. His own, Goddamn nation."

He laughs at this, a deep-throated, evil sort of laugh. Arthur turns his head until his eyes meet with Ludwig's. The Brit laughs again, holding a hand to his temple and massaging it.

"...do you expect me to rage at you? To be angry at you for kidnapping my brother? Though, I know you didn't do it, no, you couldn't do something like that and still have the balls to show up here. This was the work of your brother."

Germany's throat tightens, and as much as he wants to speak, he doesn't. He simply lets Arthur continue speaking in that tight, angry voice.

"You know, _Ludwig_," Arthur continues dryly, putting enunciation onto Germany's human name. "You're the reason that Peter was born. If you didn't start World War Two, I wouldn't have had to build forts to protect my ports. Peter wouldn't have come into existence. He wouldn't have been born, he wouldn't have had a reason to go through with any of this," he smiles tightly, though Ludwig can see through the lie and it pains him to watch the other continue. Still, England lifts his hands up and smirks.

"I can't do a damned thing about it, I hope you know. He's not my problem, no! He's yours now, you twat! Break open the sherry!" he laughs again, cruel and unforgiving.

"Because he's _your_ fucking problem now!"

-TBC

[A/N: I'd like to apologize for this chapter being horrendously short, especially after two very long chapters from before! I'm just tired and trying to adjust to the new year, along with the climax of this fanfiction.

I would like to take time to personally thank each and every person that has bothered reviewing, putting this story into their favorites/their alert emails, and even taking a glance at this story. A lot of people have read this story, and it makes me smile to see my emails, and see the reviews that I've gotten - over 50 in number, an astonishing achievement, especially with less then 15 chapters! It's amazing and wonderful and gives me so much strength. Thank you, everyone.

The next chapter is critical to this fanfiction, and establishing the relations and _exactly_ what happened between Sealand and England that destroyed their relationship. I hope you stay with me for this!

-Rishi]


	13. Rejected Life

'Rejected Kindness'

_Rejected Life_

/

"W...what?"

Peter's eyes are wide, wide and trembling and nearly frightened. Lars rubs at the back of his neck with a gloved hand, before reaching out to tousle Sealand's wheat-colored-hair again. The child flinches, however. Lars makes no move to try and comfort the child again.

Gilbert, who is still sitting cross-legged on the floor, looks up before looking down again. He's quiet. Pondering, even. He knows that things are going to end painfully, at least for Peter, so he has nothing to say. After a few moments of silence, he looks up to watch Lars begin speaking again, his voice is considerably soothing.

"You need to tell us what happened between you and Arthur. We know that you went to see him in London a long time ago, when you first became 'Sealand'. It's the only way to help us help you." he says, reaching out to cup his palm around Peter's chin. The boy does not flinch back this time, if only because he _can't_ move. "That was when you started saying y'didn't need him, right? We know something must'a happened. Y'need to tell us. It's the only way."

Gilbert looks away again, unable to take the pain radiating off the micro-nation. Blowing out a breath through his teeth, he quickly leans up until he slides onto the cot, right next to Peter, who jerks suddenly at the movement. The albino shushes quietly, reaching out to replace Lars' hand under Peter's chin with his own.

"Hey. Pete." he says, and Peter goes rigid again. Gilbert's nose crinkles in dissatisfaction, but he tries again anyway. "Pete. I know it's gotta be hard for ya, I know. But you want that bastard pirate to love you, right? If you do...you have to tell. No matter how painful it might be…"

As he says this, Gilbert sits up and smoothes down Peter's sailor suit, rubbing the child's back slowly. "And I know, I know it's painful for you. All you've wanted these years was his love, but you've never been able to obtain it, have ya? I know, kid, and I know that there's nothing you can do on your own. This is one of those problems that adults have to help with...even if you don't trust them. Okay, Pete? Can you do that for me?"

It only takes a few moments for the Netherlands to join in the other two, rubbing and soothing Peter with words in a language he can't understand. Peter reaches out to cling to Netherlands' coat, sobbing. Gilbert moves forward slightly so that he's pressing against Sealand's back, hugging against the little boy as well.

For a long time, the three stay cuddled in the small bunker, the older two hushing and comforting the younger's growing, lonely sobs.

/

It takes a long time for Peter to calm down enough to start speaking. Back to sitting on the cot on his own, with Gilbert and Lars' hands supporting him on each side, he remains steady. His eyes are red-rimmed and still watering, but he takes a deep breath and starts speaking.

"I...it was a long time ago. Back in...nineteen sixty eight? I - I think...it's been a long time, I don't...remember much before then. I remember a lot of hurt, and a lot of the dark, and a lot of Francis, but...other then that, I just don't remember why I was so sick...but after a while, I started to get better."

Gilbert visibly winces at this, but Peter doesn't notice. The boy is trying to recall his story, his shoulders heaving with each shaking breath.

"When I...when I got healthy enough...when I became Sealand...I decided that it was time to see him. And so, I...I did, I went on a boat to London and went to his door. I remember, because it was always either green or brown when I was living there. It was green this time, because it was...it was summer, or early fall."

His nose crinkles at this, at the memory. Taking a deep breath, and squeezing the Netherlands' hand, he swallows and continues to speak. "I...I went to see him, because I wanted to show him...that we could be together again, and happy, like before. Because I...because I remember about before, about during the war when he would cuddle with me, and take time out of his day to read me nap time stories, and how…how there was a lot of other stuff...we were happy. I just wanted those times to be back again. I just wanted to see him, and be together."

The boy shudders, sucking in a deep breath and holding it. Peter shakes his head. "I...I…! I knocked on his door, and when he opened it...he just looked like he saw a ghost. And then, when I...s-said I was a nation now, he...his whole face went white.

"He said that he knew already. He knew that I was a self-proclaimed nation, and...he said that his boss was already planning to destroy me...a-and he...he was crying, he was crying and saying he wished I...that I didn't exist...! He said that he didn't want me to exist, that he...that he didn't want me…!"

The boy continues to cry. The salty tears overflow down his cheeks and dribble off his chin, collecting on his lap, but he pays them no mind. Instead, Peter shakes his head, "I - I should have never been born! I wish that I never was born...I wish that I didn't make Arthur cry like that, he must...hate me so much! It was all m-my fault, all of it...I must have done something wrong, which is why…!"

With that, and another cry, Peter ducks back down into his hands, covering them as he sobs, louder and louder. It _hurts_, it hurts to watch especially, and the two stunned nations standing above him cannot move.

Slowly, painstakingly slowly, Gilbert reaches out and pulls Sealand into another hug. The child breaks down into more sobs, hiding his face shamefully in Gilbert's chest. The former empire looks up at the Dutchman, mouth agape and having no idea what to do next.

This was much bigger then either of them had ever imagined.

The Netherlands was stone silent, hands clenched beneath his jacket. However, underneath that cold glare and thin-lined mouth, he was seeing red.

_How could a brother do that?_

He stands up, surprising the two who still are on the cot. Gilbert's eyes flicker for a moment, but he understands soon enough.

Peter, however, didn't. The child whimpers, panic beginning to fill up his eyes, before reaching out and grabbing at the Netherlands' scarf. "N-no, please, please don't go, I'm sorry! Please don't be mad, it...it was m-my fault, please don't leave-"

"'s no excuse."

The child blinked, the tears stopping on his face as he looked up at the Dutchman, whose anger was beginning to seep through his face. Peter swallows and withdraws his hand. "E-excuse me?"

"There's no excuse, no fucking excuse, to causing that kinda pain and anguish in you," Lars spits, the full brunt of his anger finally taking form. He slams one fist into his palm, livid. "Does Arthur even realize what the fuck he's doing? Holy shit, I can't...I can't fucking believe this shit," he trails off, before looking back down at the child. His eyes soften, just for a moment, before they harden up again in pure rage.

"I'll get Arthur for you, kid. I'll beat an explanation out of him, if necessary. There's no fucking excuse that would be good enough for what he did. Threatening to kill you? To tear down your home? I can't...I _can't_," he cuts off with a final shake his head. "He doesn't...deserve you, someone young and bright and full of _hope_. He doesn't realize how fucking lucky he is. And he dares call himself a brother? I call _bull_, that..."

He looks down at Peter, then kneels down and rubs away the tears in Peter's eyes with a gloved thumb. "...look," he begins, swallowing down something painful. "If I were you, kid, I wouldn't give Arthur the time of day. I really wouldn't. But...he means a lot to you, doesn't he?"

Peter shrinks away from Lars' hand to nod, gripping at Gilbert as the albino holds him tight. "I...I love him," he says softly, head lowered in shame. "I really, really love him."

Without warning, Gilbert cuts in, shushing Peter and bringing the child into a soft kiss on the forehead. "Look, Pete," he whispers, because he knows that anything above a whisper has a chance of frightening the child. "Pete, it's okay. We know, you love him a lot. And that's okay, kid, because that love is probably what kept you alive. It's just...we hate seeing you sad, seeing you sad and in pain. It's for your own good, that we get to the bottom of this,"

The albino stands up without warning, Peter still in his hands, and shifts slightly, balancing the kid in his arms. The Netherlands' frown sets, but he decides to lean forward and kiss the child's tears away. Peter latches onto the both of the nations, not sure what's happening, and seeing the uneasiness in the boy's eyes, Gilbert gives a reassuring smile as he reaches out to kiss the crown of Peter's head, much like he had done with Germany as the blond was growing up.

"Hey, kid," he says softly. "You're going to be okay. I promise."

Peter looks up at the albino in awe. "R-really? You...you promise, it'll be okay?...can I believe that promise?"

Gilbert's heart falls, but nevertheless, he nods. "Yeah," he replies. "Because no matter what happens with Arthur, I promise, you'll always have me and my little brother to depend on. Alright, Pete? Promise me, you'll be strong, no matter what happens to me or Lars here. Alright?"

The child nods vehemently, then gives a small, sad little smile, which is the best he can do with his tear stained face. Gilbert leans forward and presses a rare, chaste kiss to Sealand's forehead.

"You're a good kid. You're an amazing kid, I can tell, you're gonna grow up and do some amazing things out there."

Peter swallows, and for a second, the boy gives a brilliant, happy smile. It makes both of the older nation's hearts soar for a split second, and Lars hugs around Peter tighter.

"Is that another promise, Mister Gilbert?"

Gilbert laughs, leaning up to hug around the boy again.

"Yeah. It's a promise."

-TBC

/

[A/N: Ah, well, finally, a chapter that has a pseudo-happy ending. It took...what, fourteen, fifteen chapters to get to this point? Ha ha, nevertheless, thank you all so much for sticking with me. We're finally getting around to the ending! Sounds fun, ah? Well, that's all for today. I've got to sleep.]


	14. Rejected Protection

Rejected Kindness

_Rejected Protection_

/

It has been nearly a week and a half since Peter had been kidnapped, and Arthur hasn't been able to sleep at all. Not since he blew up at Germany, who was rightfully looking to Arthur for any type of sympathy that the Brit might display. Arthur can show none, of course. He can't tell anyone, of the ache of guilt he feels when Peter looks him in the eye. He had given up the child long ago - and as his boss said, it was no longer the state of England's priority to care for some desolate war fort that seemed to have the idea in his head that he could become a nation. Arthur has to put up the greatest of walls in his heart, in order to ensure that no one could see through him.

It aches, honestly. Arthur has never been one of the more honest nations in history, but that much he can admit to himself. To be unable to be Peter's brother, his caretaker, like he had been with America. He could see so much shining potential in the child, the boy who would bear the brunt of war and pain and suffering and still manage to smile through it. One who had been more loyal then even Matthew -

_No_, Arthur shakes his head and tries to get rid of the guilty thoughts. His boss had declared Peter to be _not of importance_. Arthur has to remember that.

He has to remember. He has to remember the pain, in order to keep his mask.

/

He has been predominantly quiet, since the meetings had ended for the month. The Netherlands, along with Prussia - _East Germany,_ Arthur reminds himself, he's _East Germany _now - have both gone AWOL with no news of when they would be back, if ever. It has the other nations chatting while Arthur's back is turned, because the reason they are gone is become of Arthur's negligence.

Peter, as well, was nowhere to be found. His prince, Michael Bates, had been kidnapped in a similar manner, and Sealand was under hostage. This is talked about in quiet corridors, where no one can hear, because none of the nations should know Peter. None of them have any relations with the boy, officially, other then Germany and perhaps France, but the others still speak of it.

The others all know.

/

The Brit is going through the motions of cooking dinner - though he knows that he won't be able to cook anything decent enough to actually eat. Francis will swoop in unannounced anyway, as he had for the past week or so, to cook something for the both of them to share. The Frenchman had been insisting that Arthur was in no condition to do anything, other then contemplate, given recent events. Arthur is in no mood to argue with the other, though the fact that someone knows even an inkling of his true feelings does bother him a bit.

Setting the pot full of water down on the stove, he does not flinch when a knock is echoed through his rather large London flat. Dusting off his hands on a dishtowel - though they're not really dirty, he's just doing so out of habit - he begins the rather short trek towards the front door, reaching out to open it. Vaguely wondering why Francis had even bothered to knock - after all, he did have a spare key - the Brit opens the door, and his stomach twists.

The man standing there is much taller then Francis, the tips of his brown-colored hair brushing against the top ledge of the doorway. The man has a cigarette in his mouth, though it's unlit, and the scarf around his person looks odd for August weather.

Nevertheless, the Netherlands is standing there, looking absolutely livid. Arthur's stomach drops nearly three stories to the ground, but before he can even open his mouth, the Dutchman pulls his arm back and lets it snap, his fist colliding with Arthur's cheek.

The Brit falls backwards from the blow, hitting the staircase banister with a rather painful _snap_. England splutters slightly, coughing as he wipes at his chin as he stands, swaying slightly. Before Arthur can so much as react, that same fist reaches out and grabs the blond by the collar, jerking the man upright and pulling him forward rather painfully. Lars is leering down at the smaller nation, fists tight and anger running through his Dutch veins.

If Arthur was allowed to be completely honest, he would admit that he cannot blame him. No doubt, the Netherlands has heard of everything Arthur has done to Peter.

And Arthur will never be able to admit how badly he feels for it. So he snarls, spitting slightly at the floor, before looking up at the older nation.

"What in bloody _fuck_ was that for?" he demands, though they both know it's simply manners for him to ask. They both know why the man is here, assaulting England with no remorse whatsoever, but Arthur demands for it to be voiced. He wants to feel the tangible guilt that he hasn't allowed himself to admit to.

In response to the question, Netherlands drops the Brit, sneering. "You should know what I'm here for," he berates, snarling. "How the fuck could you do that to a _kid_, Arthur?Abandon him like that? Do you know how _miserable_ he really is? You seemed so fucking content with trying to keep America all to yourself, even though he went through a _revolution_ to get rid of you! And now here you have some kid that _idols_ you, that wants to be adored and loved by you, but no! You gotta push him away in the most painful way possible!"

Arthur shakes himself off, slightly, trying his best to glare at the Dutchman for spiting out nothing but the truth. Clenching his jaw, he forces himself to shove back at Lars, but the older man does not budge.

It doesn't scare Arthur, though.

He knew it was coming.

The Dutchman merely scowls down at Arthur, and the blond tries to do the same. It doesn't take long for this stare of to break, as Lars grabs Arthur's shirt and slams him against the wall, spitting in anger.

"Answer me something," the Netherlands growls, eyes narrowed down at the other. "How long did you think you could get away with it? With abandoning a kid like Peter? How long did you think it was going to be until someone snapped and finally gave him the time of day? I'm not saying you're a bad guy, but to knowingly do something like that? Have you fucking _looked_ at him?"

He leans forward, looking straight into Arthur's wide emerald eyes. Rage boils through the Dutchman's veins, even the Brit can see that, and England can barely struggle to move his legs back, pressing himself against as far away as he physically can, which is barely a few inches. Without any misgivings, Lars bares his teeth like a mother bear, or perhaps a wolf.

"The kid's messed up, Arthur! He's messed up and you know what, I don't give a _damn_ if it was for your nation, and if you tried to save him from being destroyed, because it didn't make a damn of a difference. You can't fucking _do_ something like that to a _kid_ without any explanations to him whatsoever and expect not to get some kind of punishment. Not when I'm still alive."

England tenses up, a cold shiver running down his spine. Something in his gut tells him that the Netherlands knows, he knows something dark and deep, something Arthur had never confided in anyone - not even Francis. He struggles to form words, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. "I - I - how did you - "

At Arthur's traitorous and stuttering mouth, the brunette chokes out a laugh. "Oh? You didn't think I knew, that you were trying to protect Peter from destruction? All that time? Come on, Arthur, all your war forts were dismantled by the end of the forties - _except_ for Fort Roughs. Peter's home." Lars smirks knowingly at Arthur's ever stiffening frame, his ever widening eyes and ever gaping mouth. On a roll, he tosses his head to the side and spits on the hardwood floor, before looking back at Arthur with a grin.

"And when it was scheduled for destruction? Something, or some_one_, kept putting it off until the people back on the mainland forgot about Fort Roughs altogether. I did some snooping around, and I found out that it was due to some high military officer's _negligence_. What a load of bullshit you try to push on the rest of us, Arthur, saying you never had anything to do with Sealand." Lars pushes a finger at Arthur, glaring. "You didn't want anyone stealing that time Peter had alive, you didn't want that time stolen away by having him destroyed. So you put it off, let him starve and get sick for _years_? What the fuck, Arthur, what the _fuck_ kind of logic is that?"

Before Arthur can even manage a reply, Lars continues, his fingers absolutely shaking with pressure against the wall as he leans there. "And don't deny it, I know I'm right. I had a lot of time to think over it, you know. When Peter would cry himself to sleep because he thought he was unwanted, when Gilbert and I tried to feed him but he didn't want it because it wasn't 'proper British cooking'. When Peter would say, with the saddest fucking face in the world, that _you never wanted him_…

"...even though that was all you, wasn't it? Protecting 'im."

Lars' last sentence trails off, and the tall, older nation steps away from Arthur, still facing Arthur's guilty eyes as they trail the ground, as his shoulders shake and tremble with each accusation that laid true. Almost gruffly, the Netherlands turns his back, shaking his head as he shrugged his scarf back into place.

"He's a good kid. He's messed up, and that's your fault. All I can really wonder is why you let that get away from you. Why he let's you hurt him, even though you never even deserved the dirt that his little shoes touch, or the smiles that he saves only for when he wants you to look.

"Fuck you, Arthur. Fuck you and your fucking logic. I'm done here."

With that, Lars walks to the door, opening it and walking out without any remorse.

Arthur's knees buckle as the door slams shut, his throat bubbling up and overfilling with long repressed guilt. Soon, his legs give out without warning and he's sitting in the middle of the hallway floor, sobbing, the tears coming without any call. The Brit can't seem to gather his bearings, even though he's been _through_ this, dammit, _Peter isn't his problem anymore_.

Peter's _fine_, he's _always_ been fine, a brat who would look him in the face and say he hates England, despite how much Arthur tried to do for him…

_A boy who would come in tears when injured, who tried so hard to fight for Arthur's sake, who would ask for Arthur to sing the nightmares of thunderstorms away..._

A demanding boy, who would ask and ask and expect to give nothing in return, one who demanded affection despite not supposed to be in existence...

_A good boy who would laugh and smile even in the middle of the bloodiest war that the world had known. _

A boy who isn't supposed to exist.

_One who loved everyone and could be loved by everyone he came into contact with, with only his smile as a weapon. Who even Germany, his sworn enemy from the wars, had taken a liking to. _

What does that matter to him? Peter can do as he likes. That's what Arthur's been telling himself, for years and years. He can do as he likes, it doesn't matter to me.

_He's heartbroken. He needs you._

No, he doesn't. He's fine.

_He's crying for you, Arthur. He's heartbroken because you can't love him._

He can't be heartbroken. He can't be crying. He _can't_ be.

_He is._

Peter is fine.

_He's not fine._

He has to be fine. He _has_ to be fine.

_The guilt keeps washing back..._

**-TBC**

[ A/N: Have I mentioned that I adore learning new information about Sealand literally as I'm writing the chapters to these chapters? Well...I do, ha ha.

Finally, some action! And Netherlands getting to beat the crap out of England. That's always satisfying. I'm exhausted, but I wanted to finish this. Reviews for this chapter, in particular, are very much appreciated. I hope you enjoyed, sincerely. ]


	15. Bonus: On the Other Side of the Line

**Rejected Kindness**

[A/N: I haven't finished the next chapter to this fic (because Prussia is a pain in the ass and I don't know how to write Netherlands for the life of me...) but I did have this little mini-chapter finished beforehand. This was supposed to be the original Chapter Two - as a sort of through-different-eyes thing...but then I got carried away and totally forgot about it;;;

But, I think that it's okay putting this here. I hope you enjoy it.]

* * *

><p><em>[Rejected Brother]<em>

_August, 1978_

When England picks up the phone, he has no idea who is on the other line.

"Kirkland speaking." He says, resting his teacup on a discarded plate to put in the sink island nation blinks at the silence that greets him as he picks up the phone. He adjusts the phone so it is nestled in the crook between his neck and shoulder, and tries again,

"Hello?"

"Arthur?"

Again, England blinks. It was Germany, of all people. He sighs slightly before settling back into his chair, "Yes, Ludwig. What do I owe this pleasure?" he asks, slight sarcasm dripping from his voice. He presses his hand against his forehead in annoyance, "If this is about the meeting, just remember that I had nothing to do with Alfred and Francis'-"

"It's not that..."

This slightly perks England's interest. The urgency in the Germanic nation's voice is obvious; and the nervousness that the Brit picks up from just these three words makes him curious. He crosses one leg over the other and leans into the leather armchair, "Then, pray tell, what is it?"

"I...do you have a younger brother, Arthur?"

"Of course I do, you twat. Alfred, and Matthew, and-"

"No, not them...do you know a Peter Kirkland?"

England's throat tightens painfully at the name. He swallows and adjusts his collar, "Where in blazes did you pull out that name from?" he asks in a tight voice, reminding himself not to lose his temper. Why Germany, of all people, was asking about Peter, was a mystery to him, and not one that he was sure he wanted to know the answer to. Rage began to boil in the pit of his stomach as his eyebrows crept together.

There is an awkward pause, awkward enough that England wants to slam the phone down and forget the entire ordeal. However, Germany speaks before he has the pleasure of hanging up,

"I found him. He was standing in the rain, by himself. I...he was waiting outside the hotel I was staying at. He said he knew you, that he was your brother..." There is a pause before Germany continues, "...that you hate him."

The former empire almost barks out a laugh at the hesitancy in Germany's voice. It is so strange and absurd, listening to Germany awkwardly plot through a phone call about such a sensitive topic. However, he bites his tongue on all the sarcastic things he could say, instead choosing to simply be cold and heartless,

""Ah, so Peter found his way to you, then?" he began carefully, fighting his urge to shout at the German to stay away from Peter, "Yes, in fact, I do know a Peter Kirkland. The...brat used to be a fort of mine, and now he has the bravado to proclaim himself as a country. I suppose he could be called my brother, though not with any affection. If that means I hate him, so be it."

More silence. England has no doubt in his mind that the biting words he forced out of his mouth has stunned the German into silence. He suppresses another laugh that is bubbling in his throat; a sad, pathetic laugh of his own inadequacy.

Hate? No, not hate. Never hate. How could he hate the boy? After all, it was England's fault that things had turned out like they had. He knew what abandoning the child had meant at the time; he had known of the scorn and hatred that he would receive from Francis; the knowing glares that Alfred and Matthew would send at him across the table at meetings. They had all watched him with Peter - when he had been Fort Roughes, when he had been British territory - and they had smiled along with the two.

They had thought that England changed. That he was no longer the man who had essentially abandoned America; who had caused the rest his colonies so much pain and hatred. They thought he learned from his mistakes.

He had changed, but it was already too late. No one would believe him now.

He breaks from his thoughts as Germany murmurs out his next words in slight shock, ""Yes, I...he did. Since you are his brother, Arthur, I assumed that you would be more worried about him..."

England replies immediately, his voice hard and cold through the phone line, "He's not my concern, Ludwig. He never was...I couldn't care less about him. Do what you want, it doesn't matter to me."

England forces the lies he had repeated in his head over and over again to the Germanic nation. He had been telling himself that for years, telling every nation who questioned him about Peter that no, it wasn't his concern, and he didn't care - but they were lies, all of them.

In fact, the island nation cared a great deal about Peter. It was only due to circumstances - his countrymen being indifferent, not being allowed to help the boy even as he watched the child suffer - that caused him to look indifferent and cold. In truth, he suffered along with the boy; suffered with each glare Sealand cast at him, every snide remark or declaration of hatred the child shot at him.

It hurt, but England felt as if he deserved it. So he remained silent on the topic.

It dawns on him that Germany has begun to speak again, and he adjusts the phone so it is resting more comftorbly on his shoulder.

"...how can you say that?" the nation asks softly through the phone line, "How can you say that about your brother? How has he done you wrong?"

How that question tightens England's heart, how he's tried to answer that question for years. The Brit swallows before replying, the same, unhesitant reply he had given each nation that had ever confronted him on the topic,

"Simple. I don't care about him. Honestly, Ludwig, you shouldn't either."

With that, he hangs up quickly, unable to keep himself from crying any longer. The tears slip past his face without warning, though England had been holding them the instant he had heard Germany mention Sealand's name. While choking on a sob, England covers his face with his hand and crumples back into his chair, unable to hold himself up.

He had rejected Sealand, but not for a moment did he hate him.

He had been terrified of something like this happening; of a nation taking Sealand away from him, of Sealand becoming his own nation and condemning England to relive his past mistakes every instant...

To have it rubbed in his face that he was, in fact, a rejected brother.


	16. Bonus: Dreams that I Reject

Rejected Kindness

_Omake - Rejected Dreams_

_[A/N: Ah, that chapter was...really tough. So, to let my brain heal a bit, I decided to write short, little 'omake' stories that connect to the plot, but you don't really need to read. Fluff is good for the soul, mm? Enjoy.]_

* * *

><p>Gilbert is awoken by the sound of soft sobs, so soft that he almost thinks they're a part of a dream.<p>

Once he realizes that he's waking up to reality, the albino grimaces. Sitting up from where he had been sleeping on the hard, concrete floor, (there was only one tiny cot, and that was for Sealand; Lars and Gilbert had agreed on that in the first place), he casts his red eyes over to the other side of the bunker, where early grey morning light spills through a high window and down to the single cot in the room. Peter is curled up tight, blankets wrapped around him lovingly.

Blowing out a breath, Gilbert hops to his feet and glances around the empty bunker. Netherlands had gone to see Arthur as soon as Peter had drifted to sleep, after much discussion between the two of them as to who would give Arthur a 'talking to'. In all honesty, Gilbert wasn't expecting him back anytime soon. They had agreed that Gilbert was best at taking care of kids - or, at least, he had the most recent experience at dealing with kids.

Besides, Lars was probably a better choice to see Arthur. Gilbert honestly couldn't promise that he wouldn't try to beat the Brit into a pulp. Lars, at least, would know when to quit.

Running a hand through his hair, the albino quietly shuffles over to the mattress, leaning down to pat on Sealand's shoulder.

"Pete. Y'okay?"

The tiny bundle stiffens up, and the sobs cease. The former empire sighs slightly, before inching his hand downwards to rub soothing circles into Peter's back. The blond child swallows and begins to sniffle again, and Gilbert takes the opportunity to reach around the boy and pluck him right from the mattress and into his arms.

Peter gasps, and Gilbert wonders if this is the first time he's ever been held from escaping a nightmare. He wonders how long Peter had to deal with crying himself to sleep, alone. Nevertheless, shaking those thoughts from his head, the red-eyed man hums slightly, trying to pick up a tune from any of the lullabies he used to sing Germany when the other was still growing up.

Come to think of it, he realizes, it's been a long time since he was able to be an older brother. A real older brother, not just to a grown nation. It starts to give him warm fuzzies in his chest, as much as he would deny that to any and all nations who would find out...if they found out, anyway.

He wonders if England felt this way, when he first had Peter.

Those thoughts are promptly lost in the lullaby that he finally starts to hum, though he honestly has no idea what the words really are and he hopes that Peter will lull to sleep from the melody alone. They rock like that for a long time, with Peter clinging to Gilbert and whispering little words in his ear, words like '_tired_' and '_nightmare_' and '_don't leave, please don't leave, Gilbert_'.

It aches to listen to. So the albino sucks in a breath as he sits back down onto the cot, one hand firmly latched onto Sealand's hips to assure the other he won't let go. With his other hand, Gilbert gently, ever so gently, tilts Sealand's chin up, to examine the poor boy's face. Big, fat tear trails roll down his cheeks, and the cheeks there are red and raw. He's obviously been crying for a long time. Sighing, Gilbert reaches up to gently wipe away whatever tears are there, shushing all the while.

"Pete. Y'mind telling me what you were dreaming about?" Gilbert asks softly. "You have to, okay? Look, I'm not real good at this stuff, but at least I can lend an ear to when you have a bad - "

"W-wasn't a dream."

The albino does a double take. "Y-what?" his brow furrows as he tilts his head slightly, hoping to get a better understanding of what Peter was talking about, exactly. "You weren't having a bad dream?"

"N-no," Peter hiccups, rubbing at his perfect blue eyes to look up at the former empire. He blinks once, twice, and the tears drip down. "I was just...w-where is Mister Netherlands? I-I...where is he?"

Gilbert blinks again, seriously confused. "Y - hey, kid, don't call him 'Mister Netherlands', he don't like that. Didn't he tell you to call him 'Uncle Lars'? And anyway, kid, what does it matter? He'll be back."

Sealand swallows, rubbing at his eyes. "Y-you promise?" he half breathed, half begged. "Promise that he'll be back. You hafta promise, Gilbert. Please. Promise he'll be back. And promise that...that you won't leave, okay? You gotta promise it. Please, Gilbert. Please promise."

It takes Gilbert a minute to digest this. Finally, it dawns on him what Peter is really afraid of, and it pangs at his chest when he realizes it.

"Oh, Pete…" the albino murmurs, cupping the back of Peter's head and pulling him flush against his own chest, hoping the boy didn't catch his expression. "Man, kid...don't you know how to trust us? Look, I...I promise, he'll be back. Lars will come back, and he'll make everything better, I swear. You don't need to worry, Peter. I promise."

For a long moment, GIlbert just holds Peter like that, holds him and refuses to let go, nestling his nose in the crown of Peter's hair, rocking and humming and holding the child, praying to whatever God the Russians believed in that things would turn out alright for the poor kid. It takes another moment of pained silence for the Prussian to pull back, smiling softly at the kid. "Pete," he said softly, holding up his hand. "Can I tell you a story, to get you back to sleep? I've got this great story, about a boy whose hair and smile were as bright as the sun, and who would protect his big brother at all costs..."

_-omake end_


	17. Bonus: More Similar then I Imagined

Rejected Kindness

Rejected Tension.

* * *

><p>The bunker is pretty boring, Gilbert has to admit. There's nothing to really do, though Gilbert had bought a coloring book for Peter to doodle in during the morning and afternoon hours between meals, along with the games and comic books that the Dutchman somehow had smuggled away. There's enough food to last for at least three months - when Gilbert had asked, Lars would carefully shrug off the questions, muttering '<em>just in case, I wanted to be prepared<em>'.

Gilbert left it at that.

Lars had, in addition, been very careful to instruct the former Prussian that there will be people searching for them, and it's best to stay hidden. He had this place built in secret, so it was the perfect place for them to hide.

It's been three days since Netherlands left them. Three long, boring days. The two nations had agreed that they would give Lars at least five days before going out and taking Peter back to the fort, as much as they both disliked the idea.

If the Netherlands is not back by the fifth day, they will consider the mission to get Arthur to realize his guilt a failure. Half the time given has elapsed, but Gilbert didn't want to give up. Not yet. There is still hope, that perhaps maybe Arthur would realize what he was doing to the poor kid.

_Maybe_, a part of his mind suggests, _just maybe Arthur already knew what he had done. Maybe there's hope after all, for these two brothers_.

And he's glad, somehow, that he and Peter are together. Gilbert can connect with him somehow, on the level that neither of them is truly what they want to be. Gilbert wants to be Prussia again, to be loud and proud and not afraid of anyone. Peter wants his brother's love and affection, and thought the only way to obtain that was by becoming one of them...albeit, not quite like them.

And neither of them were any closer to their goals then they wanted. Gilbert can sympathize with him, on that level.

* * *

><p>The Prussian hums slightly as he flips through the comic book - though really, he doesn't care for Archie comics, but Lars had insisted on bringing out nothing but PG stuff, at least until Peter goes to bed, and when Gilbert can wank to his heart's desire. (Gilbert had smacked him for that comment, but it was probably more true then he could ever admit sober).<p>

Peter himself is sitting on the bed, humming a tune with a crayon in hand as he sketched out a drawing, happily swinging his legs too and fro. He looks up at the albino, giggling slightly at the sight of Gilbert camped out and spread out on the floor, before tilting his head to one side, then the other.

"Hey, Uncle Gilbert?"

Gilbert insists that he be called Uncle. In truth, he wants to be called 'big brother', but he's unsure on how Peter would react to having someone to call by that name. The only big brother he's ever had is Arthur, after all.

"Yeah?" Gilbert hums, turning a page as he continues to skim the comics, this time with the corner of his eye watching Peter. The blond child smiles again as he slides down to the floor, to join Gilbert, The albino turns another page as Peter continues.

"What's it like, huh? Living on the mainland?"

The former Prussian empire pauses, then, and looks up at the child. His red eyes take in the sight - no tears whatsoever, no worried look in his eyes. So this was mainly out of curiosity, not out of fear or sadness or spite. The boy was genuinely curious...no doubt his memories of living with Arthur during World War Two are few and far in between, and fuzzy at best. Gilbert can't help the smile on his face as he sits up, gesturing for Peter to climb into his lap. After a bit of a pout, the boy does just that, snuggling up and getting cuddled in return. Strong, pale arms wrap around his body, and GIlbert rocks slightly, back and forth, before closing his eyes and breathing out a sigh.

"Well, kid...it's like this. You know that happy feeling ya get, when you do a good job and someone praises ya? The feeling of accomplishment. Of love, that maybe things could always be like that? It's sorta like that, except all the time." he says, smoothing down the hair atop Peter's head as it sticks up. "It's like...you get to wake up and it's warm, it's always warm, except for in winter, which sucks, because I live in freakin' Siberia where it's winter all the time."

Peter wrinkles his nose slightly, before smiling and nodding his head. "Oh, like, with snow all the time, right? I've seen that, a few times, it was fun to watch fall! It all melted on the deck before I could play in it, though. I thought about going to London to see the snow there, but I can never get a boat going on the ice."

The albino's heart clenches from how cute Peter is, and he hugs tighter. He has to take Peter out in the snow and to actually play in it, with snowballs and toboggans and throwing ice-balls at Ivan's nose. He grins at the thought, before clearing his throat and continuing. "Regardless…'s like, you wake up and it's warm, all over, and then you look outside and it's always different. It's not always the same, old blue sea like yer used to, kid.

"In the winter, everything's all white. Everything. And the snow falls and human kids get to play outside all day because the adults can't keep 'em from the snow, even on school days," he pauses, wondering if he should explain school, but shrugs it off. Peter's a smart kid, he'll catch on if he didn't already know.

"And in the spring, there are flowers everywhere, in all sortsa colors. Sometimes, pansies...err...some more _effeminate_ people will grow whole gardens of all sortsa flowers. And it's great, because everything smells really nice and everyone's always in a good mood. And after it rains, sometimes you get to see a rainbow. Have you ever seen a rainbow, Pete?" he asks, grinning to himself. "It's great, it's really awesome. I'll have to show you sometime, _ja_? Maybe once this is all over, I'll be able to take you to see one."

_Though_, he adds in his mind, _after this is all over, I'm probably not going to be let out for a while, not even outside of Russia. It's worth it, though, to make sure you smile, Peter, so I don't want you to feel guilty or cry for me_.

"And the summer, man it's great, especially in Germany. It's hot and you get to camp out at the beach all day and laze around, and not give a crap about what the world is going through, and you get to check out hot girls in their bathing suits and not even get smacked for ogling at them, not even by the scary jealous types of girls. And you get to surf and swim in the ocean. Have you ever swam in the ocean, Pete?"

Without missing a beat, Peter replies without hesitancy. "I think so, maybe once. Someone threw me in from the docks and I had to swim back."

Gilbert can't help but burst into laughter, grabbing Peter and cuddling him even closer. The child yelps and squirms, but it's all in good fun, for the both of them.

_Maybe_, Gilbert thinks to himself as he launches a tickle attack on the squealing and squirming micro-nation, _maybe we can stay together after all of this is over. Maybe we can stay together, not because of the weaknesses that bring us together, but the strengths we have hidden inside the both of us_.

/end

[ _A/N: I swear, the only reason I wrote this chapter was for more cute fluffy-uguuness that is Gilbert and Peter bonding together. Shh, I wanted to, I really did. Next time, though, I swear I will give you a 3000-plus word chapter that will make you sob your eyes out. So, until next time!_

_/casually working on three different chapters at the same time OTL_ ]


	18. Bonus: What I Regret

Rejected Kindness, omake

_**What I Regret**_

[ _a/n: here's another quickly done omake (though it's longer then the majority of the chapters here, a ha) that takes places after _Memories of a Different Time_, but before the events that Francis told Ludwig about in chapters 6-7 of _Rejected Kindness_. It's something I've had the urge to write for a while, and my eternal gratitude goes out to my dear friend Hans, who helped me so much with this chapter. Enjoy_ ]

* * *

><p>Arthur was alarmed to see the rust. It was not unexpected, but there was so much it caused Arthur to pause and stare for longer then he wanted to.<p>

_And here, this is my validation for feeling so terrible._

Fort Roughs was in a state of disrepair. After years of abandonment, the structure was slowly being claimed by the sea - where there was no discoloring, there was decay; where no decay stood out, there were layers of barnacles and limpets clinging to the sea-sprayed surface.

Arthur should have known it would become this bad. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing when he agreed the fort was no longer useful; that they should abandon the fort and destroy it. But here it was. Still standing tall - albeit shakily - amidst the rolling waves.

What had brought him back? Arthur would hasten to answer that, had he been forced to, his story changing slightly each time:

"_I'm only going for an inspection: my boss told me too."_

"_A friend insists it's my duty as a brother, they wouldn't shut up until I agreed."_

"_Curiosity drove me to it."_

In reality, Arthur was distraught. The initial abandonment had torn him in two, so much that he couldn't even bring himself to say a final goodbye. He had left Peter there, left him and hadn't looked back.

_Because it is not an adieu, it is until next time_, he'd promised himself with a smile on his face and a nod in his step, _I shall see Peter again: there are many other forts to dismantle first without attachments like him_.

And he had promised himself thus every day, just before rolling out of bed, where the memories of a smiling boy jumping on his back telling him to wake up were the most clear. Those happy, wonderful days, the ones that Arthur held closest to his heart.

But as days turned to months, the guilt numbed until he forgot it altogether. Just as surely as the boy would forget the love he held for Arthur; correct?

Arthur hadn't even remembered, until he found the letters.

He had found them earlier that week as he sifted through the paper's in his attic for something superfluous...something that he'd never found, nor did he care to find once he found the curious papers in question.

The letters were all from Peter, neatly folded up and tied with a green ribbon. Each of them had the same sorts of messages, the same words carved in crayon and on scraps of paper. Arthur had never figured out how Peter had managed to mail them, but nearly each day for five years without fail, among the letters from Parliament, and bills to be paid, there was a single letter among the bunch from Peter.

Usually they were almost mundane, with Peter describing his activities for the day (_some of the soldiers are leaving, I hope they come back soon. There's one, his name is Ronald, and he's a real nice chap_...) to later letters, in smudged writing that Arthur could barely read (_it's cold, there's no one here. Where did everyone go, Arthur? Why is everyone gone?_).

What really got to him, what really hit home, were the final words scrawled on the bottom of each page without fail,

_I love you Arthur. Please visit soon._

_-Peter_

And, upon reading each of the letters, he'd found himself curled on a platform in the rafters, clutching the notes to his chest and tears staining the wood he lay on.

It was decided then, nearly ten years after the initial promise, that Arthur finally decided to keep his word. To visit the boy, if for only a few, precious hours...that was what Peter had begged and prayed for, and Arthur would be damned if he would let it weigh on his conscious a moment longer.

Now, he was here. Hand still curled around papers in his pocket. Tears still brimming, no matter how he tried to hide it. Climbing to the fort's tiny platform nearly did it for him, and he was barely able to hold onto the railing of the tiny fort in order to keep his balance. Thoughts swarmed his mind, but the one that was so protruding was one he didn't want to think.

_No child could live in a place so desolate._

He gulped, eyes stinging in the salty wind.

_Perhaps no child _does_ live here._

* * *

><p>There was nothing. That was his first, initial feeling, and it slammed him in the chest painfully, so hard that he could barely manage to swallow down the bile filling his throat.<p>

Nothing could live here. That was his first thought.

The platforms were wet, from a rain that must have recently passed by. A small, British flag, tattered and torn after years of service, was still flying strong against the wind, the Union Jack standing out in the cold, dark place.

And as he went down the stairs, his fingers lingered on the walls. It was dirty, covered in dust. Strangely, no cobwebs adored the place, but Arthur supposed that was because of the fact that this was the middle of the sea. No one, in their right mind, would live here on their own, free will.

But Peter, Peter was here every day, he never complained once in his letters, though he had ample opportunity to do such. He simply smiled and bore the brunt of being a personification that shouldn't exist, someone who people simply couldn't be bothered with. He wrote letters, and no doubt sang songs to push the loneliness away, and smiled because he had what he believed to be the best brother in the entire world, one who would come visit and eventually take him from this place.

There was a small scuffling as Arthur makes his way down. A small mouse, brown in color, came into Arthur's field of vision. The Brit stopped and took a long look at the animal, who looked up in return, then simply twitched his nose as if in thought. After a few moments of simply staring, the mouse scurried away.

Why an animal was able to survive on this fort alluded Arthur. He was focused on his task at hand, too focused to even realize what the mouse meant.

There was someone here. There was still food here, food that could sustain life.

Perhaps, then, maybe, just maybe...

* * *

><p>Then, there were the doors.<p>

Rusted as well, the handle looked as if it was broken off long ago. The door dangled, halfway open, almost welcoming Arthur into the small, dark room.

And in that small space, curled up, was a child.

_His_ child. _Breathing_.

He blanched at the sight, stumbling pack from the door. Catching himself on a wall, he steadied, his breath shaky. Alive?

_Peter. Peter is alive_.

Unsure if the wetness on his cheek was from relief or shock, Arthur peeked his head into the door again. And there he was, as real as day. A watery smile. Arthur bit back a sob and entered the room fully, inching closer to the boy who was curled up there, motionless even as the other approached.

Upon drawing closer, however, Arthur became aware of acute differences to the lad that unnerved him. Peter's clothes - usually gleaming, a radiant shade of white from cleanliness - were dull, grey and stained. His hair, usually wheat-colored and healthy, was matted with sweat and dirt, and something red that Arthur was too afraid to distinguish. And even through the baggy shirt, Arthur could make out the ridges and valleys of Peter's ribcage. The bare skin of Peter's neck was covered in raw cuts and red blotches (from what, Arthur could not say, and he hesitated to think of it any further).

But he was alive.

_But he was alive_.

_Peter was alive_

"Pete," Arthur breathed, afraid to take even a step forward. "Peter…can you hear me?"

* * *

><p>The bundle of bones, muscles and skin jerked jarringly, his tiny frame stiffening at the sounds, the familiar voice. Wide, scared blue eyes, the normal happiness and radiance extinguished completely, peeked out from the matted, dirty hair.<p>

The child there, staring back at Arthur, was not the Peter he remembered. Not his child, radiating joy and sunshine no matter the circumstance. The Brit tried not to wince, but he couldn't help it. Dirt and scars caked his face, with tiny whimpers spilling from his throat as he tried to breathe, heavy and pained each time his shoulders rose and fell. Pale cheeks, white from their in-exposure to the sun, winced at the light.

He looked like a ghost. It frightened Arthur, in all honesty, to see his child,_ his child,_ looking at him as if he were a stranger. The sight of his child, _dying_ in front of his eyes, was so horrible that Arthur's hands trembled - if it was from either anger or guilt, he did not know, but what he did know is that he wanted to choke someone.

But there was something similar, achingly similar, to the child Arthur loved. Had raised, had taught so much.

_The smile_.

The smile was there, bright and happy, jarringly contrasting Peter's scarred and dirty face. It was still there, gleaming like a jewel. Just like Arthur remembered, which was the most unnerving thing of all.

"A—Arthur…y—you came…"

The voice was small. Small and soft, nothing like that of which Arthur had heard from Peter before. So hard to hear, almost ready to break.

"A—Arthur, you…you're here...is this a dream...? N—no, it...I always wake up before you come, I...Arthur...? Wh...what are you doing here, sir?"

If anything shattered Arthur's heart completely, the final strike was such familiarity in futility.

_I always wake up before you come._

* * *

><p>He did his best; he smiled back. Wonky, with quavering lips and streams of tears, but a smile nonetheless. He then laughed briefly, but he couldn't sustain such a sound for long. Choking when he tried to speak, he merely leaned forward and pulled the boy into a tight hug, sobbing heavily into his shoulder - wetting the fabric.<p>

If any good came out of this, it would be the clean smudge they left behind. But the rest was tarnished, beyond rescuing.

"Pe—Peter," he managed to howl, muffling the noise with one he was lamenting.

As alive as he was, Peter was as good as dead. Arthur felt it, saw it in the boy's eyes. And it was his fault. _His_ fault, and his alone. He had all the power to stop this, but he caved to his boss's orders. The orders of a human, of a mortal, of someone who would never know he'd killed - or, at least, would not live with the pain forever.

"Why," he hiccuped, a question to himself. "Why, why, _why, _God_ damn it, why?_"

* * *

><p>A tiny, trembling hand came up, brushing past Arthur's blond hair and weakly cupping the cheek that was being streamed down with tears. Peter's eyes, dull as they were, looked up at Arthur curiously, as if asking <em>what's the matter, why are you crying, Arthur, did I do something bad, I didn't mean to, honest.<em>

All those words, the ones that Peter would say day after day, afraid of being left behind. Arthur had scoffed at those words, reassuring the boy that nothing of the sort would ever happen. Arthur would always love Peter, just as Peter always, always loved Arthur.

_Always_.

And something in his ear—though it might just be the wind, or his imagination—whispered in Arthur's ear;

_Look at where it brought us now, look at what has happened. Look at the lies on Peter's face, the hope that's beginning to light up his eyes. Look at how broken, how tired and how dead he really is_.

_Look at what you've done. All those words meant nothing, you still killed him_.

* * *

><p>Peter studied Arthur's tears, the bright red cheeks filled with remorse and anger, sadness and utter despair. The child swallowed again, before opening his mouth softly and smiling.<p>

"Welcome home. I missed you, sir."

Arthur did not care that this was not his home. That the child was wrong - this was _no one's_ home anymore. Not even Peter's. This place had never been a home to him. Homes were loving, warm and kind, with people who cared gracing their presence, no matter how much you tried to get them to leave.

This place did not deserve even the title of house. It was more like a prison, a prison that kept the bluebird to happiness locked up inside, so containing that not even its sweet song could be heard. So containing that even Arthur could not hear, despite how he longed for the sweet notes, the songs and the pearls of laughter that Peter was made up of.

He missed that, he _ached for that_, but he couldn't ever have it back.

Swallowing, he began to speak. "Peter, I missed you too," he whispered. "I missed you so much that I forgot how to function, you know, I just lay in my loft all week and ended up smudging all your letters so that it looked like I'd been to sea with them, and held them up to the sea-spray so that they'd always remember where they came from and who wrote them in his bestest handwriting and made his big brother proud, the best most loyal little brother anyone could ever ask for. And then I thought, why not take them to sea? So I did, and I came to you because I need to return these letters to you, Peter. They don't belong on land and they only tear me apart," Arthur was well aware that he was rambling, but he managed to stop long enough to pull a handful of crumpled paper from his pocket.

"I can't keep them any more, perhaps you could take them?"

* * *

><p>The child took a few minutes to sort out all that, his hands shaking as he gripped Arthur's sleeves. He looked down at the papers, though his eyes didn't really focus until Arthur started talking again.<p>

Suddenly, though, Peter's eyes widened. He looked up at Arthur, and the tears began brimming in his eyes.

"Y—you...you don't want?" he asked softly, looking away now and towards the papers once again. "You don't want them, y—you don't...want me anymore? You don't...you don't...?" he fumbled, eyes glossed over as he pressed against Arthur's body.

He was shaking. It wasn't because of the cold.

"You don't want me? You don't want me? Y—you came to say goodbye?"

Arthur shuddered. Peter had nigh hit the nail on the head, even if he'd been wrong in certain aspects. But was there much point in trying to convince the child otherwise? The lad tended to think rather linearly when it came to relationships: _when they have to go, they must hate me._

Arthur could waste all day trying to tell Peter the truth. Likelihood is that he would get nowhere or feel worse for it...especially considering the growing prospect that he would never be able to come back.

So, why not lie?

"That's correct, Pete. I...I did come to say goodbye."

* * *

><p>Before the information could sink in Arthur added, rather cruelly, "And no, I do not want you. It's time you made your own way, don't you think? That you started to live by your own hands, not by mine. You're a big boy, Peter, I don't want you thinking that you can mooch off of me forever."<p>

It was all lies, of course. Mooching off Arthur? It was obvious that Peter was starving, though the fact that there was still meat on his bones meant that someone was feeding him—Arthur's money lay with Francis, or perhaps Alfred or Matthew. Probably done in secret, off the radar, so none of their countries would be associated with British property, causing a spark of rage in Arthur's people. The elder Kirkland himself was grateful for this small comfort.

What killed Arthur, though, was that he would never be able to properly thank them for taking care of Peter up to this point, even if it was unsatisfactory in his eyes. It was the best they could do, no doubt, without getting caught.

The boy jerked and stiffened up suddenly, eyes wide and watering. The boy's nails dug into Arthur's shirt, into the well worn wrinkles, and he quivered. The pain and betrayal that flashed through those dull eyes, realization that _Arthur didn't want him._

Peter's weak arms tried, in vain, to pull Arthur closer, but he was already curled up in Arthur's lap. Tears trickled out of those tired, red rimmed eyes, sobs wracking his body as he cried, cried, cried.

"No..."

It was barely decipherable, but the plea was there.

"Please...please don't go. Not today," the boy begged softly, aching muscles still gripping in vain. "Please. Stay. S—stay with me. Please, Arthur. I'm sorry. Please. Even if this is a dream...please, please stay till I fall asleep. Please..."

As much as he didn't want to leave, as much as it tore him apart to watch the child beg, Arthur was still a proud being. He cursed at the fact, but he told the boy he was leaving. Going back on his word would make him appear manipulatable and only elongate the dread of what he knew he couldn't avoid.

So, he did not reply to Peter's pleas. Instead, he pried the child's weak arms from around him and stood - trying to cover his anguish with an indifferent mask.

"My mine is already made up, Peter," he stated, expression blank as he stared into the corner of the room. He wasn't sure if he could take even a look at the boy.

"Goodbye, my brother. It was lovely while it lasted."

* * *

><p>It was eerie, when the child suddenly quieted down. Arthur would not hesitate to call it unnatural, to see his shining angel suddenly go silent in what could only be fear. Tensing up as he looked, achingly, at the other, Peter Kirkland's lips parted, and he trembled as he spoke, words mumbled and mixed together.<p>

"I...sorry...wanted...forever...Arthur, I...I….wish I...done better...I missed you. I missed you. _I missed you_."

And with that, Peter dug his fingers into his face, hiding his expression as he curled up once more, and it broke Arthur's heart to watch as he began muttering to himself, rocking back and forth as sobs wreaked through his torn and injured body.

"Dream...it has to be a dream...he'll come, Arthur will come, you'll see...he'll be here...he'll come, this is a dream..."

The boy now blind to everything but his hands, Arthur felt safe enough to drop his mask and stare wearily at the crying boy. Just for an instant. Just for an instant he'd act like he always had around the boy: open. Doing away with the front he put up for protection.

Just for an instant.

But a moment passes all to soon, and Arthur's face was set blank once more. The boy's hiccuping echoed down the corridor as he left, but his face remained stern and hard despite how he felt every racking sob like a stab wound in his chest.

_I've done it again. When will I ever stop?_

_Can I ever stop?_

_/_end

_[A/N: Told you you'd cry.]_


	19. Rejected Worries

Rejected Kindness

_Rejected Worries_

* * *

><p><em>Enough is enough.<em>

Those are the words that go through Germany's head as he loads up his bags. He had gone back to Germany, nearly a week and a half ago. But, despite how much he trusted his brother, but Ludwig had a tendency to worry about things that were far out of his control. So he kept his eyes glued to the newspapers that circulated England, searching for something, _anything_ to tell him that Peter was safe. Whenever that would be news of Sealand's hostage takeover ending, or the sight of his brother on the west side of the wall, Ludwig doesn't care.

He can't take it, being locked out of the loop like this. So, two weeks after he left England, Ludwig decides to take things into his own hands.

Leaving his country was relatively easy - nothing of importance was happening, other then the takeover of Sealand, and his boss had assured that 'matters such as this hardly hardly concern' him.

If only his boss knew _how much_ that concerned him exactly, Germany thinks with a wry, bitter smile on his face. It was ironic, but nothing that he could bother to explain to his boss in detail. How funny it would be, to see the look on his boss' face.

But that doesn't matter to him, not now. What matters is that he's going to find out exactly where Peter Kirkland is, and return him home. It didn't matter what his brother's reasoning was; it didn't even matter if there would be more harm in 'saving' the child then letting things play out.

What matters to Germany, at this moment, is that he knows exactly how safe Peter is. He needs to know, he craves it. The image of Peter and Gilbert, both starved for attention and recognition, is burned into his brain. It's an image that he can't deal with - it's not something he can forget. Ludwig has to be there, he has to fix things somehow. He doesn't even care of what drawbacks it would have for his country.

Just to know that he helped at least a little, instead of sitting on the sidelines, is worth more to him then even his relationship with England.

* * *

><p>The first place he thinks to stop is Austria. Something in his gut tells him that Roderich knows more then he would let on at the meetings - he had been relatively calm, humming to himself with a smile on his face as the others silently fussed and worried in their own minds, in the quiet halls. Since the Netherlands had been involved in the kidnapping - and Austria too, had invited Roy Bates to Austria as a farce - gave Germany a basic idea of what exactly was going on.<p>

He knows that he has to go, and see exactly what is going through the musician's head. He has to find out where Peter is, and if necessary, he would use as much force as he could.

To his surprise, Roderich seems to be waiting for him, sitting on the porch of his home as Ludwig approaches the vienna from the dirt road. He was sipping a cup of tea, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world. A smile graced the Austrian's lips as Ludwig trekked the last few yards to the porch steps. Scooting to the side and patting the empty seat of the bunch, Austria nodded.

"Sit. We have much to discuss, _ja_?"

Giving a short nod, Germany strides up the stairs and sits down promptly on the bench, back straight and fists clenched. His jaw is set straight, mouth in a thin line. There will be no formalities today. He has the feeling that Roderich understands and expects that from him.

"...good day, Roderich."

"And good day to you, young master Ludwig," Roderich replies, bringing the cup back to his lips and taking a sip. He lowers the tea and tilts his head slightly at Germany's serious expression. Chuckling, he shakes his head and closes his eyes. "Now now, there's no reason to be so stiff. I will tell you all you need to know...though, I am surprised that it took you so long to come here and find out. My condolences for not coming to you earlier, but I assumed you would know the right time to come."

Germany nods. He has nothing to say. Austria obviously knows why he's here, and business is business. There would be time for frivolities in the future. What concerns Ludwig now is the sake of the child.

Austria, noticing the serious about Germany has not lessened, continues to smile as he produces another teacup. "Here," he said softly, nodding. "I will get you some tea momentarily. You need to calm down, before I tell you anything," he says seriously, the smile dropping slightly. "I am concerned about your well being. You look as if you haven't slept in ages, and I prefer you being healthy and hale before going on such a serious trek to Young Master Lars' and Little Master Gilbert. I will prepare you some snacks to take with you as well, for the little one that is in their care. It will be just a moment, so stay put."

Giving another slight nod, Ludwig blows out a breath as Roderich stands and disappears into the house. Swallowing, and telling himself to calm down, the German can't stop worrying. It's not in his nature to let things lie unchanged for so long, and since the moment it became obvious to him that Arthur refused to do anything, he has wanted to force something, anything, to change in Peter's situation.

He had been half considering adopting Peter as his brother. That would fix a lot of things for the boy - he would have a home to go back to on the mainland, he would have big brothers to depend on, and dogs to play with, and as much good food as he could eat, and - most importantly - a happy life - but the rational part of him scolds him for even thinking such a thing. And he _hates_ that part of himself, because he knows that the rational part of him is right. He can't take Peter as a brother. It would cause far too many problems, not just for him, but worldwide.

There's a lot that he knows he can't do. And it kills him inside, to know that Peter will never be able to understand what having a big brother is supposed to be like - he'll never understand what he deserves,

But Germany can do this much. He can try, and he can do his best to show Peter the right path. Even if he can't stay with the boy, he can still watch over him.

But he feels that isn't enough. Ludwig feels like that can never be enough.

Austria slips back outside, placing a mug of freshly made coffee in Germany's hands. The younger Germanic nation looks up at the brunette, and Roderich can't help the smile playing on his face.

"You look like you haven't slept at all lately, Ludwig. Come, coffee will help pick you up before I tell you where Little Master has taken the boy and you go rushing off after them. You may as well pick up your energy a bit." he chides lightly, the smile still on his face. Gratefully, Ludwig accepts the mug and takes a long sip, relishing as the hot liquid runs down his throat. Noticing this, Roderich comments. "I can see that you have been neglecting your nutrition, Ludwig. I absolutly refuse to see you away in this sort condition. I will make sure you are well and fine before going off to see that child. Have you been sleeping well?"

Ludwig can't help the smile that's cracking his hard exterior - Austria will always be Austria, no matter the situation. This is the man that refused to fight a war without his music, of course. Putting a hand to his head, he rubs his temples as he takes another sip of the hot coffee.

"I've been alight, Roderich. I sleep a little less then normal - about three or four hours a night, I think. I've been working, and researching a bit..."

"About that child, mmm? _Ja_, I can tell, young master. Once you see someone in trouble like that, you refuse to leave them until they are safe. You were the same with young master Feliciano, back in the beginning."

"...ah, yes...I suppose he needed help back then. He was hiding in a box of tomatoes, of course he needed someone to take care of him."

Roderich chuckles at that. "Ah, that's right. I had forgotten, that was when 'you' first met him...nevertheless, young master Ludwig, I believe that you are the right choice for that poor boy. He needs your affections. He needs love, and you are the perfect person, in my opinion, to give it to him."

Ludwig blinks, slightly confused, but nods. "I understand. Can you please tell me where they are? I would like, very much, to rescue Peter from his predicament."

"Ah...of course," the Austrian nods. "They are in a bunker in Holland, close to the border with Belgium. I have a map where it is marked, prepared especially for you. It seems that the other young masters have calculated you into their plans...I suppose they won't mind if I explain your role, ja?" he smiles, and Germany nods for him to continue. Austria does just that, putting a gloved hand on Ludwig's shoulder as he smiles warmly, almost proud.

"You, Ludwig, will be the one to take Peter back, to his home. You are the one who started this, Ludwig. You are to be the one to end it, as well. Do you accept this role? Or do you prefer a different one? The choice is up to you, young master."

The German doesn't even hesitate. He doesn't think, nor does he care for the consequences of what he is about to do.

"I accept. Tell me what I need to do."

* * *

><p>Peter doesn't dream often, and when he does, they're usually nightmares where he wakes up in a cold sweat, silent tears.<p>

However, recently, since his 'kidnapping', Peter's been dreaming of wonderful things, of things that he has never honestly thought of before - things like adventures, and smiling and laughing with friends his own age.

Apparently, the new environment he has obtained - with the laughing Gilbert, who taught him more then he ever knew before, and with Lars, who quietly represents everything he's ever dreamed in a brother - has done much for his state of mind. He loves this, he loves dreaming and smiling and coloring with people whose attention are focused solely on _him_. He has found people who understand and love him without him having to ask. The way Netherlands laughs, the way the two older nations would argue and banter with each other, was causing Peter to grow in ways that he didn't know possible.

But he can't forget. He can't forget what he's left behind, no matter how much he loves how his life is turning out now. He won't allow himself to forget Arthur, to forget the things he had been striving for since before he can really remember.

If Peter Kirkland is truly honest with himself - which, despite his claims of always being the most honest of nations, he never really is - he'll admit that he never wanted to be a nation in the first place.

Nationhood. It was never something Peter wanted until it was declared that he was 'Sealand'. It was the last thing on his mind for the first two decades of his life. It just seemed like something he never needed.

He had Arthur for those two decades - or, at least, the _memory_ of Arthur, and the _hope_ that Arthur would come back to take him. The caring older brother whom he always adored, always smiled for. Something, Peter now realizes, that never existed in the first place. It was something concocted by his false memories, deluded and twisted by a child's state of mind.

But he remembers that it was never was something he truly wanted. Being away from Arthur. Being his own nation. The papers that to this day state that Sealand is no longer a part of the UK make him so, but Peter's own heart strives to be otherwise, even in those times where he was dying, as Francis had once put it.

Even now, he realizes sadly. Even now, he doesn't want to be away from Arthur. That's why he was in London in the first place, when Germany found him.

Forcing the child into nationhood, that was done for Peter's survival. Francis had done it for him, the boy's memory tells him. Francis had done it because he _cares_ for Peter, his well being. He was so desperate for Peter to keep living that he convinced a family - in secret, of course - to build a country out of his tiny abandoned war fort. The family, seeing his state of disrepair, had agreed. Even if the memories are fuzzy for him, Peter still remembers that on the very first night his prince, Roy Bates, and his strong hands tucked Peter in and kissed him goodnight, promising him that they would 'save' him from Britain's cruel hand.

'_You're a strong lad, for surviving this long. Let someone else carry you, for a change. Let us make you into something you always dreamed about._'

They had believed Peter didn't want to be with Arthur anymore, and Peter never bothered to correct them because he was so happy that someone _needed_ him again. He shrugged off the truth and began to play the part of a nation striving to be recognized, and everyone around him bought it.

Humans could be so selfish sometimes. Nations, even more so.

Especially since most of the ones watching him knew, from the beginning, that he had never wanted any of this.

Deep in his heart, Peter Kirkland just wants to go home.

-**TBC**

[ _A/N: I always seem to write these chapters in the middle of the night, ha ha. And this chapter was especially long, argh...what happened to sleeping? It's 2 A.M., why can't I seem to find a good sleeping pattern? OTL. _

_I was hoping to wrap this fanfiction up soon, but it seems like we have at least two or three more chapters of plot to go, in addition to any other "bonus" chapters that I want to do...which means more tissue boxes for everyone! Next time I swear I'll buy them! If I stop being broke, of course...anyway, see you next time!_ ]


	20. Accepted Kindness

Rejected Kindness

_Rejected Fear_

/

By the time Ludwig reaches Holland, it's almost sunset. The German tenses up slightly as he looks down at the map Austria had so kindly provided him with, searching for the secret bunker, which had been built under an abandoned house - a picture of with Roderich had added to ease his search.

And he has to admit, upon spotting the hiding place nestled at the corner of the street, that it was the perfect place for someone to hide out for a few weeks. No one would think to look in such an inconspicuous place, a small, three-story building that peeks out against the other, much newer buildings like a younger brother against it's older siblings. He can't help the smile of relief that floods his face.

_If you want to hide a tree, place it in a forrest. _

Taking a deep breath, he heads for the abandoned building, reaching out and opening it with ease.

Looking around, he finds that it really is abandoned. Dark, with cobwebs starting to be produced at the corners of the room. Absolutely nothing gives indication that the room holds any meaning whatsoever. Taking a deep breath, Ludwig heads for the stairs that lead to the secret bunker. Leading down the dark staircase, he can hear a scuffling and laughter underneath.

"_Argh! You cheat! Ah-ha-ha! T-that's not - ha ha ha! - the way that pirates fight! Ha ha ha - stop that! Stop...argh! No, you're n - ha ha ha! You're not doing it right!"_

"_Oh yeah? Pretty big from a kid that wasn't ever there! I saw real pirates, and guess what? They were all cheats! Especially that stupid brother of yours, he was the worst of them! Now you're gonna walk the plank and like it, kid!_"

Ludwig's smile grows. He can't help it, he honestly can't, when he hears the familiar voice of his older brother - one he hadn't heard in _years_ - laughing and scuffling, in the way that only Gilbert could. He doesn't notice that his pace is quickening, and he reaches out to tug at the door much sooner then he realizes. Yanking it open, he looks at the sight before him.

He's there, in a room flooded with light and laughter. Gilbert, his hot-headed, impulsive, troublemaking, _precious_ older brother, is sitting on the bed, and in his arms was a laughing, smiling Sealand, who is apparently in the midst of being tickled into submission. Ludwig's heart lifts up, because it's quite honestly the first time that he has ever seen a real, true smile on the boy's face. His lips twitch up in a wider smile, and for a fleeting moment, he wishes that things could stay this way, if just for a little longer. If Gilbert and Peter could stay with him, smiling and laughing forever as they should, _as they deserved_, and that the three of them could be a happy, loving family. A family that was filled with members that had gone through their own hardships, and somehow ended up together..._forever_.

It was a fleeting, selfish wish. Something Ludwig knows that none of them can have. But still, he closes his eyes and for a moment, imagines a life like that. No nation duties, no abandonment. Just love, with the occasional scolding, and more happiness then any of them had ever had in their lives, all at one time.

It was a wonderful feeling.

/

He steps into the underground room, boots clacking, and Gilbert's head rises at the noise. Blue eyes meet red as the Prussian freezes, tensing up. The child in his arms, noticing that the attacks to his stomach have stopped. Looking up in confusion, his mouth opens slightly. Sitting up, the child grabs onto Gilbert's sleeve, and the Prussian instinctively wraps his arms around the small boy, bringing him forward in safety. Neither of them move for a long moment, before Ludwig opens his arms and parts his lips.

"..._bruder_."

Gilbert's eyes mist over as Ludwig says that, and he gently stands up, a very confused Peter still cradled in his arms. Stepping towards the younger blond, Gilbert reaches out his free arm and wraps it around the German's neck, pulling him forward in a one arm hug. Ludwig obliges by wrapping his own arms around the former empire and the micro-nation, supporting Peter as Gilbert's entire body sags into Ludwig's strong hold.

"_Ludwig_," Gilbert says softly, shutting his eyes tight as he takes a shaking breath, and he says nothing more. It takes a long moment for Ludwig to configure a response.

"...I really wanted to see you, for years, _bruder_. I'm just happy that you're alive, I really am. I...I don't know what to say, other then that..." he trails off, looking away in a bit of embarrassment. He should have more to say, the words that he's wanted to say for _decades_, but all words are lost.

Gilbert swallows and looks back up, the smile on his face contrasting the tears in his eyes. "H...hot damn, Ludwig, you got even bigger. Shit, man...how long has it been…? Have you been eating right? You been taking care of Italy? What about that stupid brother of his? And that wench Elizaveta? You've been taking care of all of them, like you promised?"

"...I have, Gilbert. I have."

Silence envelopes them, as Peter curls in Gilbert's lap, vaguely aware that the things happening right now are none of his business to intrude on, and after a long moment, Gilbert breathes out.

"...good. You're a good younger brother, just like I taught you, ah?" he finally says, softer this time, as he pats Peter's back, rubbing soothing circles through the fabric. "That's...that's great. It really is. I just...mmh.

"Thanks, Ludwig. Thank you. But...what are you doing here, West? Why...how did you find us…?"

The German's heart stops for a brief moment, as he looks down at both Gilbert and Peter. Peter is eyeing him curiously, with a hint of fear in those blue eyes. Ludwig's takes a deep breath and stiffens up, gently letting go of the two non-nations and shaking his head. "I'm here to...well...I will stay and see you, for a few days. Then...I'm going to have to take Peter home. It's...the right thing to do, _Bruder_." he says softly, gently leading Gilbert and Peter back to the bed. Gilbert says nothing, only holding and rocking the boy in his arms gently. Peter's eyes are widening, and his hands shake as he clings to the Prussian, lip trembling. Germany's heart continues to break. The expression on Peter's face says volumes.

'_No, don't take me away. Don't make me go, please. I've finally found a happy place with people that like me, don't rip that away…'_

Germany swallows, reaching out to move Peter from Gilbert's lap and into his own, before hugging around the child tightly. He knows it's out of character to show this much affection, but he doesn't care. What he _cares_ about is Peter, in comforting a child who would have to come to the face the truths once he finally got away. Soothingly, he rubs circles into Sealand's back.

"I want to do this even less then you do, Peter. But...it's where you belong," he murmurs softly, pressing his lips to the crown of Peter's hair. "You have duties there. You have citizens. I understand that you don't want to go, because you've found people whom love you, but...please, Peter. Imagine what would happen if you weren't there. They need you, even if you don't believe that. Please, Peter. I'm so sorry."

Sealand presses his head against Ludwig's chest, shaking. He puts up no argument, which breaks Ludwig's heart even more then if he had put up a fight. Peter's resigned to his fate, which is much sadder then anything else the German can think of. Determined to not leave Peter like this - sad and without hope - Ludwig hums softly, closing his eyes as he leans back, still holding the boy tight.

He hasn't sung a lullaby in decades, perhaps even centuries. But for Peter, it's worth it, and in a low baritone voice, he begins to sing softly, cupping his hand around the back of Peter's head, rocking slowly to comfort Peter from his fears.

"_Hush little Peter, don't say a word_

_Antonio's gonna buy you a stuffed Gilbird_

_And if that stuffed Gilbird doesn't sing,_

_Francis here will buy you a diamond ring_

_And if that diamond ring turns brass,_

_Lovino here will buy you a looking glass…"_

Before Ludwig can prod his mind for the next verse, Gilbert joins in the singing, rubbing Peter's back as he closes his eyes and continues in a soft voice.

"_An' if that looking glass gets broke_

_Feliciano will go and buy you a billy goat_."

The German cracks another smile. He can't help the soft barks of laughter that spill from his throat, finding the improvisation absolutely hilarious, and he can feel Peter loosening up underneath him in turn. Relief flooding through his veins, Ludwig lowers his head and closes his eyes, hoping that he can be just as clever.

"_And if that billy goat's not nice,_

_Lady Ukraine will will kiss you not once, but twice_,"

Satisfied with this, Ludwig can feel Peter shift in his arms, big blue eyes peeking up to look at the German. Licking his lips and opening his tiny mouth, the child suggests another verse.

"_And if Miss Ukraine's magic kisses aren't enough_

_Uncle Gilbert will buy me lots and lots of stuff…?_"

Gilbert bursts out into laughter, obviously pleased with this. Ludwig chuckles as well, and doesn't miss a beat as his fingers tangle through Peter's hair. He doesn't even think as the next words come out of his mouth, and even when they pass, he doesn't care what sort of things his boss would think if he could hear Ludwig.

"_Yes, Gilbert would spoil you ridiculously_

_But, his gifts are nothing compared to your new family…"_

-**TBC**.

[ _A/N: I would say something here but I'm so tired that I don't think I'd be able to manage to express my feels. Ahhhh. I think the next chapter will be the last in the main storyline, with various other 'bonus' chapters that I might or might not write, depending on what you all want. Thank you all so much for reading this far. Stick with me till the end._

_-Rishi _]


	21. Returned Kindness

Rejected Kindness

_Returned Kindness_

* * *

><p>Netherlands is not in the bunker.<p>

That's the first thing that Germany notices, after the two reunited brothers put a sleepy, doe-eyed Peter to bed. The bunker is rather small, with no room for a grown man - especially a tall one like the Dutchman - to hide.

Lars, the looming, easily irritated, protective man, is not there. It surprises him, because to be honest, the Netherlands was the first person Germany expected to be staring down at him, unlit cigarette in his mouth, scowling as if something was wrong. But he wasn't there, and as the hours tick past, he realizes that Gilbert doesn't expect the other nation back.

Slowly, he looks over to where his older brother is sitting, a comic book in his hands as he absentmindedly flips the pages. The blond can tell, even though it's been decades since he spent some actual decent time with the albino, that Gilbert's mind is somewhere else, not on the Archie comics. Shifting slightly, the German coughs to get the elder's attention. Gilbert blinks, then his eyes swivel over to Ludwig. His chapped lips crack into his trademark grin, and he scoots slightly closer to the other, tossing the comic over to the other.

"You want it, West?"

Germany can't help but smile back. "No thank you, bruder," he mumbles, setting aside the book. "I was just...I was wondering, why isn't Netherlands with us, here? I would assume, as this is his country, he would be here with Peter, as well…"

Red eyes flicker for a moment, and Gilbert's gaze shifts abruptly from where Ludwig is sitting over to the child on the bed, wrapped up lovingly in his covers and no doubt dreaming of beautiful and happy adventures. He reaches up to rub a hand through his unkempt, silver hair, before looking back at Germany.

"He...well...I guess he ain't coming back, West," he begins softly. "He ain't coming back, because it's hopeless. It's the fifth day, after all. Since he left."

Ludwig blinks. Frown deepening, he shifts forward so he can gaze deeper at his brother, who continues to shift and squirm as if he had done something wrong that he was about to be scolded for. "_What_?" he asks in a harsher, worried tone. "You mean to tell me he _left_? Why would he do tha…?"

"Because. He went to see Arthur."

Germany's blood runs cold. Scowling now, his eyes are focused on Peter as well, focusing on the soft, wheat colored hair that smelt so strongly of salt and mildew. He doesn't say anything, for a long moment, so Gilbert takes the opportunity to reach out and pat the German's shoulder. "It's not what you think, West," he presses. "He didn't go there to take revenge, or to beat the shit out of him. All we wanted were answers. And...well, we decided, if Arthur didn't give satisfying ones, well...Lars wouldn't come back. And we would bring Peter back to his home, which is...what you wanted to do anyway, West. And tonight's the fifth day."

Ludwig's heart tenses up, and the implications of what Gilbert is saying begin to sink into his chest. The fact that Arthur had not given even a decent excuse was unforgivable, but the fact that _he_ would really have to bring Peter back to a lonely place like his fort was even worse.

"...this...can't be the end, can it?"

The words slip from his mouth before he realizes it. Ludwig's hand immediately clasps the bottom of his face, fingers curling into his cheek, as he realizes exactly how important Peter is to him.

And Gilbert is watching him with a smile, a bit of pride flicking in his eyes.

"'course not. He's stuck with us, you know. You, me and him. And, don't worry about what your boss says about you taking Peter under your wing...I can look after Peter for you, y'know? I've still got that freedom. No matter what Ivan does, I can still spare some time for the kid, can't I?"

Relief floods over him, and Ludwig has never been more grateful in his life for his older brother's kindness. _He may be rash, _he thinks softly, _but he's still my _bruder_. And the best one that _anyone_ could ever ask for_

* * *

><p>The next morning, Germany wakes before dawn, as usual for him. His blue eyes flicker open, and he realizes that he's sleeping on the floor of the room, and two heavy weights are snuggling him. Two warm, breathing weights. Trying to sit up without disturbing them, on his left is Gilbert, snuggled up in his half of the comforter that the two had decided to share - even in August, it was cold in Holland - his silver hair mused up and brushing against Germany's side, mouth slightly agape as he chews on a thumb in his sleep, mouth occasionally twitching into a smile before drifting back into it's sleeping position.<p>

Ludwig's attention diverts away from the former empire in order to focus on the other, smaller weight.

And curling up there is a small figure, and even in the faint light, Germany could see the blond hair, the overbearing eyebrows. Sealand is half curled onto the German's chest, head nuzzled against Germany's burly chest as his lower body curls up and tangles in the blankets as well. A happy, faint smile is curling his lips, and Ludwig takes another moment to realize what, exactly, it means.

_He gave up sleeping on the bed in favor of cuddling with us._

And it breaks his heart, just a little, to realize that today is the day that Peter would have to go back to his fort, where he would no doubt feel abandoned and alone.

_But_, he reminds himself firmly, _it's not the end. We will make time for him. It's the least we can do._

And with that in mind, Ludwig gently shifts up again, papping on Sealand's cheek until blue eyes flutter open, and Peter Kirkland is sitting up, rubbing at his eyes. Germany can't help the broad smile on his face as he leans down to brush away the child's fringe, kissing his forehead gently.

"Good morning, Peter. Would you like to take a walk?"

* * *

><p>Ludwig leaves Gilbert in the bunk. He knows that this would be harder on the former Prussian to deal with, and he had talked with Gilbert about it beforehand, when they were right on the cusp of falling asleep. The albino begrudgingly agreed, and Ludwig had decided first hand that he would personally deliver Peter back to Sealand - him, and him alone.<p>

Taking a deep breath, the German reached down and picked up the sleeping preteen, laughing softly at the yelp it produces from the boy. Patting Sealand's back, Germany hums slightly as he continues to walk.

"Do you know where we're going, Peter?"

"Mmmmh…" Sealand yawns, rubbing at his eyes. "I dunno. Where?"

"We're going back to your home. Today's the day that you're going to take back your duties in your nation, mm?" Ludwig says gently, rubbing circles into Peter's back in order to soothe him, trying to repair the tense nerves as the small blond began to stiffen up. "Now now," he adds, "Don't be like that, Peter. You knew it had to happen soon. You promised you would go back...and Gilbert and I will come visit soon, _ja_? As soon as this is all sorted out. And we can play, read you stories and do things like that. Perhaps I would even bring you to visit my home."

"...mmm." Peter mumbles, eyes fluttering shut as he nuzzles his head into the joints between Ludwig's shoulder and neck. "...yeah. That...sounds nice, mmh."

"And you will be a big boy, a strong boy, and bear your responsibilities?"

"...yeah."

"You have to promise, Peter," Germany laughs, patting Peter's back as he picks up the pace. It's a long walk from Holland to England, even with the nation's inexplicable ability to travel faster then normal humans. He has to keep a steady beat with walking, especially now with the added weight of the (strangely light) steel structure that he's carrying. The sleepy steel structure, who is quickly falling back asleep. Dawn is beginning to trickle through the sky, orange, blue and even purple lights decorating the horizon. Ludwig has never been a fan of things like sunrises or sunsets, because they never had any purpose to him, other then to tell him that it was time to wake or time to pack up.

But this sunset in particular, he notices, is beautiful.

It's beautiful because it's a new beginning.

The boy hums slightly, eyes still closed, nodding his head to the beat of the German's steady pace. "...promise. But you keep your end of the deal."

"I'm German, Peter. Deals are very serious to us."

* * *

><p>It's still early when Germany crosses the boarder into England, and even when he reaches London, it's earlier then he expected - Big Ben himself tells Ludwig that it's barely a quarter past seven. <em>This is good, though<em>, he thinks as he continues to walk until he reaches the shoreline.

_It gives us all the time in the world to say our goodbyes._

Setting Peter down, Ludwig straightens the boy up, papping his cheek to make sure he's awake. Peter blinks, sea-blue eyes staring up at the other, and Germany smiles back, before focusing on the task at hand.

He straightens up Peter's shirt, running his coarse fingers over the creases and the wrinkles, trying to make it look suitable. He folds Peter's sleeves so the light blue cuffs are showing off proudly, and he fixes the child's disheveled collar.

Hands then went up to smooth out Peter's hair, the rough blond hairs being pulled this way and that as Germany tries to make Sealand at least a little presentable. Ignoring Peter's squirms and occasional giggles, the German licks his thumb to brush and rub at the bottom of Peter's chin, where dirt has been on the boy's face. It had been annoying Germany since he had seen the boy yesterday, but now was the first opportunity that he had to get rid of it.

Finally, Germany straightens out Peter's cap, blue elastic clasping firmly to Peter's head as Ludwig tries to make the hat look less crumpled - Peter had been sleeping on Germany's shoulder for quite a few hours, and it looked more then a bit wrinkled.

That's when Ludwig stands back up, smiling at the boy standing there. Sealand straightens up as well, eyes wide as he watches the German, and he instinctively stiffens up himself. Germany reaches out his hand again, to salute the young boy.

"This is it, soldier." he says softly, proudly, as he waits for Peter to return the gesture. After a moment of thinking, Sealand does, raising his left hand up to mimic the older blond. Germany can't help his smile as it widens, and he gently crouches down to switch Peter's arms, lowering the left as he raises the right, before straightening up again.

"You're supposed to salute with your right hand. Remember that, and no one can tell you that never had a big brother that never taught you anything. _Ja_?" he chides softly, the smile never leaving his face.

Sealand nods, giggling slightly as he holds up his right hand proudly over his forehead, giving the best salute of his life. "Yes sir, Germany," he replies, grinning. "I'll do my best to become a great nation, even though I already am! So...thank you, sir."

"Of course, Sealand. You've got the biggest heart that I've ever seen. You're going places."

Peter's eyes shine at the praise, and he nods enthusiastically. "Yes!" he breathes, grin spreading from ear to ear. "I'll do my best. I'll come visit you too, and we can...we can have sleepovers and all that stuff. You promised. And a deal's a deal."

Ludwig nods shortly, then gazes over to the shoreline. "_Ja_. Now...I believe it's time that you leave, Peter. Your citizens need you. I will be waiting to hear back from you, someday. Make your _bruders_ here proud."

And, with a nod, Sealand turns.

Germany watches as the child walks off to the docks to find a boat to take him home, back shown proud as his little legs began quickening, until he was sprinting and out of sight in the early morning crowds. Ludwig is glad that, at least, this goodbye was not a sad one. Perhaps the reason for the lack of tears is because because it's too early. Perhaps it's because Peter is far too tired to comprehend what's going on.

But Ludwig knows that neither of those are the answers.

The reason it isn't sad, is because it's not a goodbye.

Family never says goodbye.

-end.

[_God I wanted to kill myself with this final chapter. Still, here it is, the conclusion to the main story of Rejected Kindness. There may or may not be bonus chapters - I might even take requests and prompts with particular characters. I love this universe way too much to actually let it go, and there is probably a LOT of things I didn't include in Rejected Kindness that I wanted too...so I can ninety-nine percent assure you that at least a few more chapters will come your way._

_Even though I had a vague idea from the beginning where I wanted to take this, I had no idea that I would be allowed to go this far. It is my longest, most beloved fanfic, which took over half a year for me to complete, orz... My deepest love and affections go out to every single one of you who have bothered to review, put this fic on your favorites/alert lists, or even just reading the damn thing. I can't express this enough...you never will know how much I adore you all_.

_I hope you learned, at least a little bit, along with being entertained. I'll see you next time, perhaps?_

_-Rishi]_


	22. Bonus: Acceptance of Love

Rejected Kindness - omake

_Acceptance of Love_

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><p>Peter Kirkland isn't used to being woken up in the mornings. Usually, he's the first one awake, right before dawn, and is dutifully cleaning every inch of space on his fort. His citizens would smile at him, smile and laugh and accept that he was really trying his hardest.<p>

That's why, when Peter wakes to the smell of something sweet, he is momentarily confused. Opening his eyes, it takes a moment for him to adjust to the early morning light that streams into the bunker, to find Netherlands standing at the stove, back turned to him, unlit cigarette in his mouth. He's staring at the stovetop with such intensity that reminds Peter of his old soldiers, the ones that had lived on his fort back in the forties, during the war. It's not a bad feeling, though - it's something that brings Peter the feelings of nostalgia.

It's been two days since Peter was 'kidnapped' - two days, and Peter was beginning to enjoy the environment he was absorbed in. Gilbert insisted that he call each of them "Uncle", and so far, the days had passed pretty easily. The child was beginning to enjoy himself, which was why waking up to a breakfast in the midst of cooking almost seemed natural to him. Almost.

Sitting up, Peter gingerly leans off the bed and steps past a sleeping Gilbert on the floor, who is snoring away, and tiptoes over to the other. The blond child shifts slightly, wondering if he should make some noise, before Lars chuckles, bringing Peter's attention back to the other. The Dutchman's back is still turned, but he's flipping whatever food he has in the pan over the stove, and seems like he's in a very good mood.

"You're a good kid, you know that? Really. C'mere, you didn't need to get up this early. Grab a stool, you can help me with breakfast, m'kay?"

Slightly surprised by the invitation, Peter hesitates slightly.

"Hey! You heard me, right kid? Come over here!" Netherlands barks, looking back with a wry smile on his face. "Before your stupid Uncle Gilbert wakes up and forces me to give up my rights for cooking. His pancakes suck, no matter what he says. You can help flip the pancakes, okay? So get the hell over here."

"A-ah!" Peter nods, grabbing the stool from next to the bed and pattering over to the other. He sets it down and climbs up, peeking over to top of the stove to watch the Netherlands' skilled hands baking. The smell that woke him, he realizes, was actually chocolate chips, which were apparently mixed with the pancake batter Lars was using. Peter smiles slightly to himself as he looks up at the Dutchman, who glances back at him in kind and smiles softly.

"You ever have pancakes, kid?"

"Yeah, I did," Peter nods to himself, humming slightly. "They were good. I have them when Mattie comes over and stuff. I tried cooking them once, but the stove exploded."

This earns him a chuckle from the older man. Lars hums slightly as he puts another pancake on the ever-growing stack at his side, grabbing three eggs. He cracks them and soon, the sizzling of eggs fills Peter's ears.

"Well, good. This recipe is from Matt himself, y'know. We trade secrets sometimes. We're good friends, me an' him - he helped me during the second World War. I owe him my life. How do you like your eggs, kid?"

It takes Peter a moment to decide. "Umm...scrambled!" he says, a bit enthusiastically. "I like them scrambled! They taste good that way! And it's the one recepie that doesn't get messed up unless you burn it really badly!"

This earns him another laugh. Netherlands hums as he starts to stir the eggs with a mere flick of the wrist. He smiles down at the other, eyes crinkling in what Peter thinks is almost pride.

"Good. You really are a good kid, Peter. Never forget that, okay?"

"Ah…" Peter pauses, not sure how to respond. He looks down, rocking back and forth on his heels, before nodding his head. "Oh...okay. I get it! I won't forget, don't worry!"

"Right. That's m'boy," Lars replies, reaching out with his unoccupied hand and tossling Peter's hair. "You're gonna go places, kid."

[ _A/N: NO PLOT IS GOOD PLOT. Argument invalid. It's three AM right now. Honestly, the only reason I wrote this was because I wanted to. There's no reason for it, OTL;;;;_

_I will be writing more, though, I swear! Hehe. ]_


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